ornia 
lal 

y 


5"= 


"Miss  Traumerei 


A  Weimar    Idyl 


By 


Albert   Morris    Bagby 


Boston 
Lamson,   Wolffe,   and    Compan}* 

6,    Beacon    Street 
1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  ALBERT   MORRIS   BAGBY 


ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Copyright,  1895, 
BY   LAMSON,   WOLFFE,    Si   Co. 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI 


2135120 


TO  MY 

FATHER    AND    MOTHER 


"MISS  TRAUMEREI 


CHAPTER  I. 

Hidden  away  in  a  secluded  oblong  basin  formed  by 
the  green  hills  of  Thuringia  nestles  sleepy  little  Wei 
mar.  Its  narrow,  crooked  streets,  ill-paved  and  lined 
by  plain  two  and  three-story  stucco-walled  houses, 
are  confined  to  the  old  town  proper.  Their  monot 
onous  irregularity  is  broken  by  the  open,  paved 
market  and  by  the  broadening  of  the  way  before  the 
mediaeval  city  church,  the  theatre  and  post  office, 
where  an  occasional  bronze  statue,  public  fountain 
or  row  of  trees  gives  variety  to  the  dreary  stretch  of 
stone  and  mortar. 

Facing  the  incline  a  few  paces  to  the.  left  of  the 
market,  a  proud,  many-windowed  palace  with  a  great 
rectangular  court  and  quaint  detached  tower — the 
principal  landmark  for  the  townsfolk — looms  up  on 
the  left  and  lower  bank  of  a  brawling  little  stream 
dignified  by  the  name  of  river.  An  ancient  stone- 
arched  bridge  leads  the  approach  to  the  military 
barracks,  pleasure  gardens  and  villas  on  the  neigh- 


8  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

boring  hill.  Stretching  upward  from  the  palace,  on 
both  sides  of  the  winding  Ilm,  the  Grand  Ducal  Park, 
whose  romantic  nooks  and  seductive  walks  were 
planned  by  Duke  Carl  August  and  the  immortal 
Goethe,  terminates  in  the  .hamlet  of  Ober-Weimar. 
In  the  diametrically  opposite  quarter  of  the  city 
broad,  modern  streets  ascend  gentle  slopes  to  meet 
fields  of  waving  grain,  brilliant  in  summer  with  the 
crimson  of  the  poppy  and  the  deep  blue  of  the  corn 
flower.  At  the  lower  extremity  of  the  old  town  a 
handsome  new  museum  faces  an  imposing  residence 
street  which  climbs  the  hill  to  the  ornamental  Em 
press  Augusta  Place  before  the  railway  station  at  the 
base  of  the  lofty,  forest-crowned  Ettersberg.  From 
the  upper  end  of  Weimar  the  magnificent  Bel 
vedere  Alice,  with  its  long  line  of  stately  villas  facing 
the  open  park,  leads  to  Belvedere,  the  summer  home  of 
the  Grand  Duke,  on  the  hill  a  mile-and-a-half  distant. 
Flanking  the  junction  of  the  Alice  with  the  city  street, 
stand,  like  the  pillars  of  a  huge  gateway,  companion 
houses — square,  thick-walled  and  singularly  plain. 

That  on  the  left  is  noticeable  as  the  former  home 
of  Franz  Liszt.  His  apartments  occupied  the  sec 
ond,  or  top,  floor.  The  lower  rooms  are  still  inhab 
ited  by  the  family  of  the  court  gardener.  The  royal 
garden,  upon  which  the  sole  outer  door  of  the  house 
opens,  is  hedged  from  the  public  gaze  by  high  dense 
foliage.  It  is  reached  by  a  narrow  portal  on  the  Alice 
at  the  corner  of  the  residence  and  by  a  rustic  gate 
at  the  end  of  a  drive  between  long  hot-houses,  ex 
tending  from  the  gravelled  space  about  the  entry 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  9 

door  to  the  park.  An  old  gabled  tool-house  with 
overhanging  eaves,  a  clump  of  slender  towering 
pines  and  a  high  latticed  enclosure  for  poultry  crowd 
close  to  the  worn  stone  stoop  at  the  further  corner 
of  the  edifice,  whose  prison-like  aspect  is  relieved 
by  a  sill  full  of  gay  scarlet  geraniums  in  the  dormer 
window  under  the  low  roof,  and  a  row  of  tall  exotics 
partially  screening  the  neatly  curtained  windows  of 
the  ground  floor.  In  this  modest  home  the  great 
Master  Liszt  received  each  summer  up  to  the  year 
of  his  death  young  pianists  whose  talents  and  accom 
plishments  rendered  them,  in  his  judgment,  worthy 
of  his  gratuitous  instruction. 

One  June  morning,  not  a  great  while  previous  to 
the  date  which  deprived  the  world  of  this  greatest 
piano-virtuoso  of  any  time,  Pauline,  his  faithful  house 
keeper  and  cook,  sat,  knitting,  on  the  settle  before  the 
house.  She  was  a  comely,  rich-complexioned  bru 
nette  of  forty  odd  years,  with  glossy  hair,  bright  eyes 
and  a  tall,  robust  figure.  Her  feet  rested  on  a  low 
foot-stool;  for  no  sun  had  appeared  by  ten  o'clock  to 
dry  the  earth,  soaked  with  a  heavy  rain  the  previous 
night.  As  usual,  at  this  hour,  all  was  quiet  about 
the  Royal  Gardens  save  the  occasional  rattling  of  a 
carriage  over  the  stony,  city  approach  to  the  Belve 
dere  Allee,  the  low  cooing  of  the  pigeons  on  the  roof 
of  the  tool-house  or  the  shrill  cackling  from  the  hen 
nery.  The  side  gate  clicked,  and  a  tall  spare  form, 
with  long  flowing  hair  and  broad-brimmed  slouch 
hat,  strode  out  from  the  cluster  of  bushy  pot  plants 
concealing  the  entrance. 


i  o  ' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

"Good  morning,  Pauline." 

"Good  morning,  Herr  von  Ilmstedt,"  responded 
the  housekeeper  in  a  pleasant  voice. 

"Has  the  Master  risen?" 

"No,  he  is  still  sleeping,  but  he  has  some  important 
writing  on  hand  and  will  receive  no  one  this  morn 
ing.  He  gave  orders,  in  case  any  of  the  pupils  called, 
to  say  that  there  would  be  a  lesson  this  afternoon." 

"Ach,  so!"  he  exclaimed,  with  habitual  celerity. 
At  this  familiar  rejoinder  Pauline  drew  down  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  and  professed  such  ignorance 
in  answer  to  questions  about  the  Master  with  which 
he  plied  her  that  he  soon  called  over  his  shoulder, 
"Adieu!"  and  disappeared  as  he  came. 

"Of  course,"  she  muttered  contemptuously,  listen 
ing  to  his  receding  footsteps.  "I  knew  he  would  be 
the  first.  Trust  me  to  free  this  house  of  such  bores! 
He  imitates  Herr  Doctor  in  everything.  I  believe 
he  would  wear  the  coat  of  an  Abbe,  too,  if  he  dared. 
Why,  he  has  even  begun  to  say  'Sapprement'  when  he 
is  surprised  at  anything.  Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"How  is  that,  Frau  Pauline?" 

"Herr  Je!"  almost  shouted  the  startled  matron, 
jerking  her  face  up  to  the  light  to  meet  a  pair  of 
glorious  hazel  eyes  twinkling  at  her  with  amusement 
through  a  gap  in  the  shrubbery  on  her  right.  "Du 
lieber  Himmel!"  she  ejaculated  impressively  in  fur 
ther  astonishment,  at  the  same  time  dropping  her 
knitting  on  the  settle  and  rising  in  a  stupefied  fashion 
slowly  to  her  feet.  "Is  it  you,  Miss  Muriel?" 

"See  for  yourself,  Frau  Pauline,"  laughed  the  pos- 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  1 1 

sessor  of  the  handsome  eyes,  stepping  into  full  view 
to  receive  a  warm  embrace  and  kiss  for  either 
cheek. 

Then  Pauline,  flushing  with  pleasure,  held  her  off 
at  arm's  length,  exclaiming,  "Mein  Gott,  how  you 
did  frighten  me,  arriving  in  that  ghostlike  fashion; 
but  I  am  none  the  less  delighted  to  see  you!" 

"I  slipped  in  on  tiptoe  to  avoid  being  seen  by  Ilm- 
stedt.  He  came  up  the  Alice  just  as  I  entered  it  from 
the  city." 

"I  sent  him  off  in  a  hurry,"  added  Pauline,  with  a 
mocking  grimace;  "luckily,  too,  for  now  I  can  hear 
something  of  you,  while  Herr  Doctor  finishes  his 
nap." 

"How  is  the  dear  Master?"  There  was  a  touch 
of  tenderness  and  reverence  in  the  inquiry  which  the 
speaker's  eyes  reflected. 

"Ach!"  began  Pauline,  with  a  gesture  more  elo 
quent  than  words;  "never  in  better  health;  but  you 
will  see  for  yourself  presently.  Please  be  seated  and 
tell  me  everything."  Lifting  the  half-knit  stocking 
from  the  settle,  she  placed  herself  in  a  listening  atti 
tude  and  resumed  work. 

"Very  well,  when  you  seat  yourself,"  was  the  re 
sponse;  "you  will  take  cold  standing  there  on  the 
damp  earth." 

Pauline,  flashing  a  grateful  look,  murmured 
"Thanks!"  and  took. the  proffered  seat  on  the  fur 
ther  end  of  the  settle. 

Although  long  service  and  responsible  position  had 
elevated  her  rank  in  the  household,  she  never  forgot 


1 2  <  <  MJSS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

the  restrictions  imposed  by  caste,  and  tempered  her 
familiar  treatment  of  Liszt's  divers  pupils  with  pro 
portionate  deference.  The  few  who  addressed  her 
respectfully  as  Frau  Pauline,  however,  won  her  high 
est  regard.  Of  these  Muriel  Holme,  whom  she  called 
"Missey,"  ostensibly  intending-  compliment  to  her 
nationality,  but  secretly  as  the  easiest,  most  excusable 
word  of  endearment,  was  her  prime  favorite. 

Indeed,  nearly  every  one  loved  and  admired  Muriel 
Holme.  Many  another  gentlewoman  might  have  as 
shapely  and  graceful  a  figure  and  dress  in  as  excel 
lent  taste,  but  few  could  compete  with  her  in  personal 
charm  and  magnetism.  Though  she  was  not  hand 
some  in  the  common  acceptance  of  the  term,  the 
general  contour  of  her  features  was  refined  and  high 
bred,  and  her  hazel  eyes,  not  noticeable  in  moments 
of  repose,  the  instant  she  spoke,  darkened  and 
gleamed  with  a  quick  intelligence  which  fascinated 
the  beholder.  She  was  of  medium  height,  graceful 
and  dignified  in  every  movement.  Her  voice  was 
agreeable  and  well  modulated;  in  conversation  it 
was  not  so  much  what  she  said  as  how  she  said  it 
that  held  the  attention  of  the  listener.  Her  innate 
modesty  caused  her  to  undervalue  her  own  attrac 
tiveness  and  tinged  her  utterances  with  a  charity  as 
delightful  as  it  was  rare.  In  her  presence  one  knew 
instinctively  the  underlying  strength  and  purity  of 
her  character.  In  brief,  her  personality  was  so 
marked  that  she  drew  to  herself  the  instant  sympathy 
of  strangers  without  fully  realizing  herself  to  be  the 
magnet.  The  ready  tact  which  enabled  her  to  deepen 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  13 

that  first  favorable  impression  was  the  key  to  her 
wide  popularity. 

"Well,  when  did  you  reach  Weimar?"  asked  Pau 
line,  knitting  industriously,  with  her  smiling  eyes 
fixed  on  Muriel. 

"Last  night  at  nine  o'clock." 

"Again  at  Frau  von  Berwitz's?  But  of  course," 
exclaimed  Pauline,  answering  her  own  question,  "you 
would  never  go  elsewhere!" 

"Never,  unless  Frau  von  Berwitz  sent  me  away. 
It  is  the  only  place  now  where  I  feel  at  home,  and 
she  is  like  a  mother  to  me.  Ah,  Frau  Pauline," 
said  Muriel  impulsively,  a  sudden  look  of  ec 
stasy  illuminating  her  face,  "I  can't  express  the 
happiness  I  felt  at  once  more  opening  my  eyes 
in  my  dear,  silent  old  gable  room  this  morning; 
to  see  the  pink  and  white  roses  hanging  in  great 
clusters  about  the  windows,  to  inhale  their  sweet, 
fresh  fragrance,  to  lie  there  and  dream — waking — of 
nothing,  only  knowing  peace,  rest,  contentment!" 

Muriel's  nature  was  a  curious  mixture  of  the  artis 
tic  and  practical.  The  inevitable  result  of  yielding  to 
the  former  tendency  had  influenced  her  early  musical 
life.  Therefore  she  sought  now  to  gain  a  more  tran 
quil  mentality,  and  thereby  a  superior  foundation  for 
her  own  artistic  growth,  by  a  zealous  and  constant 
search  for  general  knowledge.  A  noble,  enlightened 
womanhood  crowned  her  efforts;  but,  here,  in  the  in 
tensely  musical  atmosphere  of  Weimar,  the  luxury- 
craving  side  of  her  nature  irresistibly  demanded  ex 
pression. 


i4  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

At  so  unusual  an  expression  of  feeling1  Pauline 
gave  her  a  scrutinizing  look,  noticing  for  the  first 
time  a  slight  pallor  in  her  face,  from  which  the  first 
deceptive  flush  of  welcome  was  gradually  fading. 

"You  have  been  overworking  again,  Missey,"  she 
said. 

Muriel  glanced  up  with  all  the  old  light  in  her 
eyes.  "Oh,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  convincing 
tone;  "I  never  do  that;  I  am  always  very  well,  ready 
for  everything;  but  the  heat  and  dust  of  Berlin 
have  been  intolerable  the  past  fortnight.  This  place 
is  a  garden  of  enchantment  in  comparison."  She 
dropped  her  head  gently  back  into  the  rich  foli 
age  rising  high  behind  the  settle,  and  pressed  the 
green  leaves  lovingly  to  her  face.  "I  shall  rest 
for  a  few  days,  if  thtere  is  no  present  necessity  for  play 
ing  in  the  lessons.  Are  many  of  the  pupils  in  town?" 

"Very  few." 

"When  is  the  first  lesson?" 

"This  afternoon." 

"Oh,  then,  I  must  begin  work  at  once." 

"Herr  Doctor  will  not  expect  it  if  you  need  rest," 
said  Pauline. 

"He  shall  not  know  it,  for,  if  he  gives  his  time  for 
the  lessons,  there  must  be  some  one  to  play.  I  in 
tended  being  idle  for  a  week.  He  wrote  me  from 
Aachen  that  he  would  not  return  before  the  twenti 
eth  of  this  month " 

"He  surprised  us  all  by  coming  back  so  soon,"  in 
terposed  Pauline,  with  a  glance  of  inquiry  at  the. 
upper  windows. 


« 'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  1 5 

"Ah,  well,  I  can  take  my  vacation  later,  when 
the  class  fills  up." 

"Herr  Doctor  has  risen!"  announced  the  house 
keeper  abruptly.  "I  hear  him  moving  about." 

Muriel's  dreamy  languor  vanished  instantly. 

"Then  I  shall  go  up  at  once,  before  any  one  else 
comes,"  she  said,  rising  with  animation  and  readjust 
ing  her  hat,  which  had  been  jostled  by  contact  with 
the  foliage.  "Michael  is  there  to  let  me  in,  is  he  not? 
Very  well,  then,  I  will  see  you  when  I  come  down." 


CHAPTER  II. 

Mounting  the  four  worn  stone  steps  to  the  square 
entrance  hall,  Muriel  crossed  a  threshold  on  the  right 
and  followed  the  winding  stair  to  the  landing  before 
Liszt's  apartments.  The  door  of  the  music-room  on 
the  left,  being  unlocked  for  special  occasions  only, 
was,  as  usual,  closed;  the  one  before  her  stood  open, 
revealing  the  length  of  the  narrow  ante-chamber 
where  Michael,  the  Hungarian  valet,  faithfully 
guarded  the  venerable  Master's  privacy.  At  first 
glance  he  was  not  to  be  seen;  but  a  strong  odor  of 
brandy,  that  sent  her  back  apace,  and  a  measured, 
rasping  snore  which  made  the  walls  of  the  little  apart 
ment  tremble,  told  their  own  tale.  A  smile  flitted 
over  her  bright  expectant  face  at  sight  of  a  stout 
boot  protruding  from  the  green  baize  curtains  con 
cealing  the  couch  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Hesitating 
an  instant  in  uncertainty,  whether  to  try  to  rouse  the 
valet  or  to  appeal  to  Pauline  for  assistance,  she  failed 
to  hear  the  dining-room  door  swing  noiselessly  back. 
A  voice,  thick  from  sleep,  startled  her  by  calling, 
"Michael!"  A  snoring  crescendo  from  within  the 
curtains  was  the  sole  response,  as  the  Master  him 
self,  following  the  tones  of  his  voice,  shuffled  slug 
gishly  into  the  room,  glanced  helplessly  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  hidden  couch,  and  then  turned  to  retreat. 
He  appeared  very  old  at  that  moment,  with  his  eyes 
still  heavy  from  slumber.  His  thick  mass  of  silky 
hair  was  dishevelled,  and  stood  out  from  the  grand 


"M7SS     TRAUMEREI"  17 

rugged  head  in  fluffy  white  cascades  descending  to 
his  shoulders.  Perspiration  bedewed  the  broad,  high  \ 
forehead  and  deeply-lined,  powerful  face,  now  flushed 
from  sleeping  in  a  close  room.  His  once  tall,  spare 
form  was  bowed  with  age  and  comfortably  corpulent. 
His  white-hosed  feet  were  thrust  into  easy,  heelless 
house  slippers,  and  he  wore  a  black  suit  with  sack 
coat  of  velvet.  A  black  silk  neckerchief  hung  un- 
knotted  over  a  pleated  shirt-front,  which  had  been 
loosened  at  the  throat.  Muriel  stood  like  a  statue, 
fearing  a  breath  would  draw  his  attention  to  her. 
He  glanced  up,  saw  her,  advanced  a  step  and  darted 
her  a  penetrating  look,  with  a  mien  of  severity  which 
would  have  rebuffed  a  stranger.  A  glimmer  of  rec 
ognition  ruffled  the  sombre  expression  of  his  face, 
and  broke  into  a  smile  of  pleasure  as  he  extended  his 
arms,  exclaiming  in  accents  still  husky,  "Is  it  possi 
ble!  My  dear  Amerika!" 

"Dear  Master!"  responded  Muriel,  affectionately, 
as  he  grasped  both  her  hands,  kissing  her  lightly  on 
the  forehead — his  customary  salute  to  ladies  of  good 
acquaintance.  "I  am  indeed  glad  to  see  you  once 
more." 

"Ah,  dear  friend,"  he  said,  this  time  in  German, 
"you  are  always  very  welcome;  but  step  into  the 
music-room  a  moment  until.  I  make  myself  more 
presentable.  As  you  see,  I  am  scarcely  ready  to  re 
ceive  a  visit  from  a  lady.  I  must  be  my  own  valet 
this  morning,"  he  added,  motioning  ruefully  at 
Michael's  boot.  "Poor  fellow!  He  is  worn  out.  We 
came  home  late  and  he  is  just  getting  his  sleep  after 


1 8  "MfSS     TRAUMEREI" 

putting  things  to  rights.  But  come!"  Taking  her 
arm  they  -entered  the  dining-room  together,  Muriel 
asking  if  she  should  not  summon  Pauline  to  help  him. 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind,"  he  answered,  disappearing 
hastily  through  the  bedchamber  door  opposite,  as 
if  ashamed  of  his  disorderly  appearance.  Muriel 
turned  into  the  music-room  on  her  left — an  oblong 
apartment  comprising  the  garden  front  of  the  house. 
It  was  darkened,  the  atmosphere  close  and  stifling. 
The  Master  had  been  napping  here,  and  the  impress 
of  his  head  was  visible  on  the  white  sofa-pillow  at  the 
side  of  an  inner  door  to  his  sleeping-room.  Open 
ing  a  window,  Muriel  called  the  housekeeper,  after 
which  she  rolled  up  the  white  blinds  and  spread 
wide  the  other  casements.  Then  beating  the  pillow 
into  shape,  she  gave  a  few  hasty,  necessary  touches 
to  the  general  order  of  the  salon  to  make  it  the  more 
attractive  to  the  sharp-eyed  host  when  he  came  in. 
The  Master  was  accustomed  to  these  thoughtful  at 
tentions  from  Muriel,  and  never  forgot  to  take  verbal 
notice.  Consequently  she  had  come  to  regard  them 
as  her  special  privilege.  It  gratified  her  ambition; 
gave  her,  in  fact,  inexpressible  heart  delight,  for  Liszt 
had  been  not  only  the  distant  guiding  star  of  her 
earliest  musical  life,  but  now,  in  this  new  near  rela 
tionship  of  teacher  and  friend,  instead  of  falling  from 
his  pedestal  he  had  became  an  object  of  veneration 
and  love.  Therefore  she  made  a  final  survey  of  the 
room  with  a  satisfaction  which  she  had  frequently 
craved  since  leaving  it  the  previous  autumn. 

The  general  arrangement  was  the  same  as  at  her 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  19 

first  acquaintance.  There,  before  the  window  over 
looking  the  Alice,  stood  the  Master's  broad,  flat- 
topped,  well-equipped  writing-desk,  adorned  with 
conspicuous  easel  portraits  of  the  Princess  Wittgen 
stein  and  Hans  von  Billow;  a  bronze  dish  of  the  fa 
vorite  cigars — long,  slender  and  strong;  another  for 
collecting  cigar  tips,  to  be  converted  later  into  snuff 
and  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  applied  to  orphan  char 
ities — a  common  practice  in  Germany;  a  large,  flat 
shell  for  cigar  ashes,  and,  on  a  sliding  extension, 
a  cut  glass  decanter  of  cognac,  a  second  one  of  water 
and  a  half-filled  tumbler  of  the  mixture.  A  vermil 
ion  silk  handkerchief  and  a  pair  of  spectacles  lay  be 
side  a  half-finished  letter  in  the  Master's  unique  chir- 
ography.  At  the  side  of  a  comfortable  leather  chair, 
there  stood  a  spacious  waste-basket,  from  which  the 
pupils  culled,  year  after  year,  the  choicest  odds  and 
ends  not  already  seized  by  the  servants,  who  were, 
however,  quite  willing  to  let  them  go  again  for  a 
financial  consideration.  A  concert  grand  piano  ex 
tended  before  the  first  two  windows,  and  behind  the 
player's  stool  was  a  long  sofa,  on  which  new  pupils 
were  prone  to  seat  themselves  in  full  view,  after  their 
first  performance,  as  on  a  judgment  seat,  and  suffer 
untold  agonies  of  mind  if  they  had  not  tact  enough  to 
slip  away.  This  clumsy  piece  of  furniture  and  an 
upright  piano — used  only  to  supply  the  orchestral 
part  to  concertos — stood  in  line  agajnst  the  side  wall. 
Under  the  mantel,  on  the  inner  wall  by  the  dining- 
room  door,  stood  a  round  card-table,  where  the  pupils 
deposited  their  music  during  the  lesson;  and  a  little 


2  o  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

beyond,  near  the  parti-colored  portiere,  dividing  the 
length  of  the  salon,. was  another  table  laden  with  mis 
cellaneous  periodicals  in  various  languages.  Two 
handsome  lamps  ornamented  the  marble  slab,  upon 
which  rested  a  gilt  pier-glass  at  one  side  of  the  door 
to  the  bedchamber.  Some  bric-a-brac  on  a  table  in 
the  further  corner  behind  the  writing  desk,  a  pot  of 
flowering  begonias  at  its  base,  a  few  scattered  prints 
and  hanging  casts  along  the  white,  gilt-corniced  walls, 
a  number  of  cherry-wood  chairs,  upholstered  in  ma 
roon  velvet,  and  a  sober  green  carpet  completed 
the  furnishing  of  this  room.  The  piano  was  stacked 
high  with  new  music  and  books,  mostly  the  gifts  of 
authors,  and  to  these  Muriel  had  turned  to  read  their 
written  inscriptions  and  autographs,  when  the  side 
door  opened  and  the  Master,  now  quite  wide  awake 
and  spruce  of  appearance  in  a  new  black  house-coat, 
stepped  lightly  into  the  salon. 

"So  you  are  again  in  the  little  nest  Weimar  for  the 
summer!  Not  a  bad  place  to  come  to,  is  it?  I  con 
fess  that  1  am  heartily  glad  to  be  here  once  more  my 
self."  He  spoke  cheerily  in  his  progress  across  the 
room,  and  as  he  put  out  his  hands  to  give  her  a  sec 
ond  welcome,  Muriel  said:  "Indeed,  dear  Master,  it 
would  not  be  Weimar  without  you."  He  shook 
her  hands  warmly  at  this  avowal,  laughing  in  a  jovial 
way,  as  if  to  imply:  "I  hear  much  of  that  sort  of 
thing;  but  you,  I  know,  are  true,  and  I  believe  you." 

If  the  spirit  of  the  coquette  were  in  Muriel  she  was 
quite  clever  enough  to  conceal  it,  for  she  impressed  all 
alike  with  her  sincerity.  It  was  the  secret  of  her 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  2 1 

strong  hold  upon  the  Master,  surrounded,  as  he  was, 
by  a  coterie  of  young-  artists,  too  many  of  whom 
tried  to  effect  a  way  to  his  good  graces  by  fawning 
servility.  Her  open-faced  frankness  and  that  rare 
dignity  of  character  born  of  purity  and  self-respect, 
would  have  given  her  a  first  place  in  his  esteem  and 
affections  had  she  been  less  gifted  musically  than  she 
was. 

"And  while  you  are  here,"  continued  Muriel,  smil 
ing  a  response  to  his  laugh,  "it  must  be  comfortable 
for  you.  There  is  too  much  draught  in  this  room." 
Taking  this  opportunity  to  release  her  hands,  she 
closed  the  first  two  windows  before  the  Master,  who 
had  followed  leisurely,  could  overtake  her.  "Thanks ! 
Thanks!"  he  murmured,  "but  it  is  not  necessary." 

"Safer  at  any  rate,"  Muriel  replied,  decisively,  un 
derstanding  him  too  thoroughly  ever  to  question  his 
preferences.  "You  are  looking  so  much  better  than  last 
year,  dear  Master,  that  I  hope  to  see  you  remain  so." 

"I  am  better — I  am  better !"  he  exclaimed,  hastily — 
the  subject  of  his  health  never  having  become  a  fa 
vorite  one  with  him,  even  under  pain  of  the  severest 
malady.  "The  visit  to  Aachen  was  most  beneficial 
to  me."  At  this  admission  he  straightened  up  and 
walked  briskly  across  to  the  reading-table. 

"And  a  most  enjoyable  visit,  too,"  he  added,  as  an 
after-thought.  "I  met  dear  friends  there  whom  I 
had  not  seen  for  many  years.  Here  is  the  pro 
gramme  of  a  concert  given  by  the  local  singing 
society."  "In  my  honor,"  he  might  have  added,  but 
modesty  forbade.  "It  was  good — very  good!"  Lift- 


22  • '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

ing  a  gorgeously  conceived  fancy  in  white  satin,  with 
blue  script,  he  held  it  up  for  Muriel's  inspection.  This 
began  a  recital  of  fresh  reminiscences,  which  he  pur 
sued  at  length  near  the  open  window,  glancing  from 
time  to  time  at  the  multi-colored  glory  of  the  garden 
against  the  verdant  background  of  the  park.  The 
low  cooing  of  the  pigeons  and  the  spasmodic  music 
from  the  hennery,  mellowed  by  distance,  kept  up  a 
running  accompaniment,  which  he  seemed  to  follow 
with  pleasure.  Mild  woodland  breezes  crept  gently 
into  the  salon  and  faintly  stirred  the  snowy  locks  of 
the  venerable  Master.  Into  his  rugged,  powerful 
face,  so  suggestive  of  the  awe-inspiring  gloom  of 
mighty  mountains,  had  crept  a  look  of  peaceful  repose, 
which  Muriel  had  not  seen  there  since  their  earliest 
acquaintance.  He  had  chosen  this  tranquil  home  for 
old  age,  and  in  her  heart  she  hoped  that  he  might 
live  many  more  years  to  enjoy  it.  She  was  not 
ing  the  Master's  robust  appearance  as  a  subject  of 
congratulation,  not  only  to  himself,  but  to  the  pupils 
who  had  borne  the  brunt  of  his  irritability,  aggra 
vated  by  disease  during  the  past  two  seasons,  when 
the  clicking  of  the  Alice  gate  and  the  disjointed  mur 
mur  of  familiar,  masculine  voices  below  the  window 
interrupted  fugitive  meditations.  The  Master  heard 
the  sound  also,  and,  resting  both  hands  on  the  stone 
sill,  leaned  forward  to  greet  the  young  men,  whose 
impending  visit  gave  him  apparent  pleasure.  "Ho, 
ho,  August — Arthur — Holland!" 

"Good-morning,  Master!"  rose  in   trio   from   be 
low.     There  was  a  little  peal  of  laughter  at  this  sud- 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  2  3 

den  and  unexpected  appearance  of  the  Master,  to 
which  he  responded  with  a  chuckle  of  amusement. 

"May  we  come  up?" 

"Certainly,  certainly !" 

At  this  abrupt  termination  of  their  tete-a-tete,  and 
foreseeing  a  series  of  visits  for  that  morning,  Muriel 
signified  her  intent  to  depart.  "Play  something  this 
afternoon  in  the  class.  Anything  that  you  will!" 
the  Master  said,  accompanying  her  to  the  exit  and 
giving  her  a  parting  kiss  on  the  forehead.  "So, 
aufwiedersehen,  dear — Ah,  ha,  ha,  ha!"  The  young 
men  had  rushed  eagerly  up  the  stairway,  and  their 
appearance  at  the  salon  door  was  the  signal  for 
a  jovial  reception  by  the  Master.  Muriel  exchanged 
civilities  with  two  of  them,  and  departed  unperceived 
in  the  midst  of  their  animated  chatter.  She  found 
their  delinquent  companion  in  the  ante-room  holding 
back  the  bed  curtains  with  one  hand  and  tickling 
Michael's  nose  with  the  forefinger  of  the  other.  The 
valet  brushed  his  face  with  his  arm,  groaning  dis 
mally. 

"Let  him  alone,  Herr  Arthur,"  said  Muriel,  invol 
untarily  sharing  his  mirth.  "The  poor  fellow  is  worn 
out." 

"Ach,  Fraulein!  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you 
again!"  exclaimed  the  impulsive  tormentor,  spring 
ing  forward  to  greet  her,  and  forgetting  his  victim  for 
the  moment.  When  Muriel  started  downstairs,  Ar 
thur  entered  the  salon  and  left  Michael  snoring  with 
renewed  vigor  behind  the  green  baize  curtains,  serene 
ly  unconscious  of  the  entertainment  he  had  furnished. 


CHAPTER  III. 

At  exactly  half-past  three  o'clock  Michael,  once 
more  restored  to  his  bowing  and  smiling  alertness, 
stood  in  his  little  guard-room,  ushering  the  first  ar 
rival  for  the  lesson  into  the  dining-room  to  await  the 
Master's  waking.  He  was  a  tall,  heavily-built  Hun 
garian  of  thirty  odd  summers,  with  a  shrewd,  deter 
mined  face  and  authoritative  manner.  He  could  be 
disagreeable  when  occasion  demanded,  but  to-day 
he  was  apparently  as  happy  to  see  a  renewal  of  the  old 
life  at  the  Royal  Gardens  as  Pauline  herself,  whose 
cheery  voice  floated  up  faintly  from  her  station  at  the 
house-door,  whither  she  had  taken  her  knitting  in 
order  to  engage  her  favorites  in  a  brief  chat  before 
they  entered.  Ten  young  people  of  both  sexes  strag 
gled  in,  singly  or  in  pairs,  deposited  hats  and  sun 
shades  on  a  low  chest  of  drawers  and  the  valet's 
trunk,  and  disappeared  through  the  side  door.  They 
were  grouped  about  the  dining-room,  conversing  in 
subdued  tones,  whenever  Michael  appeared  at  short 
intervals  to  softly  open  the  salon  door,  take  a  sur 
reptitious  peep  within  and  retreat  with  a  shake  of  his 
head  at  the  score  of  inquiring  eyes  turned  upon  him. 

"He  is  oversleeping,"  said  Ilmstedt,  yawning  and 
looking  at  his  watch.  "It  is  four,  already."  A  slight 
noise  from  the  other  room  reached  his  ear.  He  hur 
ried  out  for  the  valet,  who  dashed  precipitately 
through  to  the  salon  with  noise  enough  to  rouse  the 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  25 

Master, had  he  still  been  sleeping.  Again  all  was  silent; 
and  Ilmstedt  once  more  consulted  his  timepiece  and 
yawned  before  Michael  threw  back  the  door  with  a 
flourish  to  permit  the  aged  Master  to  advance  to  the 
threshold,  smiling  and  extending  his  hands  in  a 
general  greeting.  The  pupils  pressed  forward,  each 
of  the  ladies  receiving  a  kiss  of  welcome  on 
the  forehead  as  she  slowly  entered  the  salon.  Stand 
ing  by  the  grand  piano,  the  Master  then  gave  the  gen 
tlemen  his  hand,  and  some  of  them  he  drew  forward 
to  kiss  his  cheek.  He  had  a  cordial  word  and  smile 
of  welcome  for  each.  Michael  closed  the  procession, 
which  filed  past  him  out  into  the  room,  and,  leaning 
over  him,  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Ask  him  in!"  was  the  audible  response.  A  mo 
ment  later,  a  tall  youth  with  a  white,  scared  face  en 
tered  and  neared  the  group  at  the  piano.  Having 
averted  his  head  to  speak  to  some  one  on  his  right, 
the  Master  failed  to  see  the  stranger  trembling  be 
fore  him.  Muriel  noticed  him  sitting  before  the 
house  as  she  came  in,  and  surmised  his  transatlantic 
origin  at  a  glance.  Pauline  said  he  was  the  bearer 
of  letters  to  the  Master,  which  he  had  delivered,  with 
out  getting  an  audience,  that  morning.  With  com 
passion  for  her  scared  countryman,  Muriel  touched 
the  Master's  arm  to  gain  his  attention.  In  turning, 
he  saw  the  new-comer. 

"Ah !"  he  exclaimed,  graciously  extending  his  hand, 
"Bonjour!" 

The  American  made  a  profound  obeisance,  and 
then,  too  embarrassed  to  speak,  stood  as  if  rooted  to 


26  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

the  spot.  A  voice  whispered  to  him  in  English: 
"Now  is  your  chance.  Ask  him  if  you  may  attend 
the  lessons.  Make  haste!"  it  added,  as  the  youth 
parted  his  colorless  lips  in  an  ineffectual  effort  to  ar 
ticulate  a  sound. 

"May  I  ask  permission  to "  he  began  with  a 

spasmodic  gasp. 

"Pardon  me!"  exclaimed  Liszt,  stopping  the  re 
newed  conversation,  to  smile  benignly  at  him  and 
turn  a  listening  ear. 

"May  I  ask  the  privilege  of —  '  He  could  get  no 
further.  A  sudden  and  awful  silence  reigned  in  the 
room.  He  could  hear  his  own  voice  uttering  the 
most  execrable  German  he  had  ever  spoken  ;  he 
could  see  before  him  Liszt — the  Liszt  whom  he  had 
worshipped  from  afar  as  a  supreme  being — and  sur 
rounding  him  a  half-dozen  celebrated  young  con 
cert  pianists  all  watching  him.  The  faces  multi 
plied  a  hundredfold.  The  room  danced  up  and  down 
before  his  eyes.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  It  was 
the  space  of  an  instant,  though  it  seemed  to  him  an 
hour,  when  the  same  friendly  voice  whispered  softly, 
this  time  in  German,  " of  attending  the  lessons?" 

" of  attending  the  lessons?"  he  repeated  me 
chanically. 

"You  may  play  something  presently,"  said  the 
Master  in  a  non-committal  sort  of  way,  and  maybe 
just  to  have  a  little  innocent  fun  with  the  youth;  for 
he  had,  doubtless,  summed  up  his  good  points  at  a 
glance,  being  an  extraordinary  judge  of  men. 

The  bewildered  petitioner  felt  himself  swallowed 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  27 

up  in  the  ensuing  hum  of  voices.  Relieved  to  es 
cape  at  any  price,  he  found  refuge  in  the  corner, 
where  he  stood,  unobserved,  mopping  the  great  beads 
of  perspiration  from  his  brow,  and  wondering  who  his 
unseen  benefactor  could  be. 

"Well,"  said  Liszt,  after  a  little,  "Miss  Muriel  shall 
open  the  lesson,  for  she  was  the  first  to  welcome  me 
home  this  morning." 

At  this  information  Herr  von  Ilmstedt  was  violently 
attacked  by  his  chronic  complaint:  insane  jealousy  of 
the  Master's  favors  or  attentions.  However,  he 
rarely  spoke  at  such  times;  so  no  one  gave  the  least 
heed  to  his  sulky  bearing.  He  was  reserving  his 
grievances  for  a  more  opportune  outlet;  consoling 
himself  meantime  with  a  cat-like  glance  at  Muriel,  as 
she  accepted  the  Master's  gallantly  proffered  arm  and 
walked  to  the  piano.  Aside  from  this  one  blemish 
on  his  career  in  Weimar,  Ilmstedt  was  a  thoroughly 
good  fellow,  and  his  colleagues  had  many  pleasant 
things  to  relate  of  him  amidst  other  surroundings. 

His  adoration  of  Liszt  dominated  his  entire  being. 
Not  content  with  the  small  personal  notice  accorded, 
he  sought  to  ingratiate  himself  by  cringing  servility. 
Failing  dismally  in  that,  he  had  bethought  himself,  the 
previous  season,  of  the  earlier,  and  in  many  instances 
forgotten,  piano  transcriptions  of  Liszt's.  The  leading 
music-publishing  houses  of  Europe  were  searched, 
and  the  result  provided  Ilmstedt  with  a  formidable 
list  of  compositions  with  which  to  wage  war  against 
the  Master's  indifference.  He  had  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  many  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 


28  "MISS  .TRAUMEREI" 

sometimes  pleasure,  from  the  gratified  composer 
when  he  played  one  of  these  in  the  lesson.  At  such 
times  his  face  grew  radiant;  but,  did  the  Master  ven 
ture  to  say  a  word  of  approval  or  offer  his  cheek  for  a 
kiss,  his  joy  knew  no  bounds.  Could  his  bliss  have 
induced  unconsciousness  until  the  awarding  of  fur 
ther  favors,  all  would  have  been  well ;  but,  alas,  it  was 
too  evident  that  the  Master  cherished  a  warmer  re 
gard  for  certain  other  pupils.  The  visible  proof  was 
anguish  to  him.  Hence  the  puerile  intrigues  which 
spiced  the  serenity  of  social  intercourse  in  the  Liszt 
clique,  though  they  were  rarely  of  lasting  harm  to 
others  than  Ilmstedt  himself. 

Muriel  noticed  the  expression  of  his  face  as  she 
took  her  place  at  the  keyboard;  and  as  she  recalled 
the  incident  of  the  morning,  related  by  Pauline,  she 
mentally  calculated  the  extent  of  the  harm  brewing 
for  her  in  Ilmstedt's  prejudiced  imagination.  The 
thought  was  of  short  duration,  for  the  Master,  who  oc 
cupied  the  chair  at  her  right  side,  interrupted  her  by 
asking  her  what  she  purposed  playing. 

"The  three  nocturnes,  'Dreams  of  Love,' "  she  re 
sponded,  hastily  placing  the  music  on  the  rack. 

"Ach,  so!"  he  exclaimed,  adjusting  his  eyeglasses 
to  examine  a  set  of  his  own  compositions,  and  turn 
ing  the  leaves  slowly,  as  if  to  refresh  memory  with 
forgotten  harmonies.  Then,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  he  turned  his  face  to  Muriel,  saying,  with  a 
smile,,  which  displaced  his  eyeglasses  and  sent  them 
dangling  over  his  shirt  front,  "Well?" 

Only  those  who  had  overcome  in  great  part  or 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  29 

entirely  the  technical  difficulties  of  the  pianoforte 
were  supposed  to  apply  to  Liszt  for  instruction.  To 
have  attempted  a  piece  beyond  one's  powers  would 
have  meant  banishment  from  the  class.  Failure  was 
due  rather  to  nervous  fright  than  incompetency,  for 
no  pupil  dared  risk  a  performance  without  the  most 
careful  preparation.  Therefore  Liszt  concerned  him 
self  with  the  artistic  touches  only.  His  remarks, 
though  brief,  were  revelations  to  a  pianist,  and  his 
illustrations  at  the  keyboard  of  incalculable  worth. 
The  pupils  stood  about  the  piano,  carefully  noting 
every  suggestion. 

Accordingly,  when  the  keys  responded  to  Muriel's 
touch,  there  was  an  instantaneous  hush  in  the  room. 
She  was  not  allowed  to  proceed  far.  The  Master  placed 
his  hands  on  hers.  "Not  so,"  he  said,  "but  this  way." 
He  repeated  the  fragment  without  changing  his  po 
sition.  Muriel  began  anew.  "Good — good!"  he  mut 
tered  encouragingly.  In  like  manner  they  worked 
through  the  three  pieces,  sometimes  slowly,  again 
pushing  rapidly  forward. 

Muriel  was  an  individual  player,  having  some  or 
iginal  ideas  regarding  interpretation.  The  Master 
did  not  venture  to  repress  them,  unless  radically 
wrong,  though  differing  somewhat  from  his  own 
conception  of  the  compositions.  He  followed  her 
with  earnest  attention,  using  the  blue  pencil  freely 
in  altering  certain  passages.  Only  once — it  was  in 
the  first  nocturne — did  he  take  her  place  at  the  key 
board.  Two  of  the  oldest  pupils,  conversing  in  low 
tones  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  instantly  rec- 


30  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

ognized  the  magic  touch,  and  noiselessly  joined  the 
group  of  listeners.  The  Master  was  in  one  of  his 
rare  moods.  He  had  slept  well  and  was,  moreover, 
happy  to  be  again  the  centre  of  his  beloved  circle. 
It  was  home  and  family  to  him,  and  absorbed  the 
tender  affections  of  his  declining  years. 

Liszt  had  the  power  of  a  necromancer,  with  the  key 
board  under  his  ringers.  He  could  sway  his  audi 
ence  with  the  emotion  which  inspired  him.  If  it  were 
his  will  to-day  to  witness  an  ethereal  tenderness  steal 
into  the  faces  of  those  behind  him,  he  succeeded. 
All  thought  of  the  fingers  that  produced  such  strains 
seemed  to  have  fled  their  minds. 

The  softly  murmuring  undulations  of  the  accom 
paniment  became  the  tonal  embodiment  of  man's 
complex  inner  self;  the  divine  sweetness  and  beauty 
of  the  beseeching,  caressing  melody,  the  true  voice 
of  that  ideal  love  which  dominates  and  purifies  life. 
In  that  moment  every  nature,  however  small  and 
tarnished,  translated  beyond  the  worldly  atmosphere 
of  actual  being,  drank  the  pure  ether  of  the  over-soul. 
Each  passed  an  exalted  moment  with  his  nobler  self; 
but  only  a  moment,  for  a  sudden  cessation  of  sound 
cut.  short  loftier  flights. 

"There!"  exclaimed  the  Master,  rising  abruptly,  as 
if  sufficiently  convinced  of  his  own  unimpaired  power 
to  require  no  further  test. 

Ten  transfigured  faces  grew  blank.  It  was  a  rude 
shock  to  be  suddenly  precipitated  from  such  em 
pyrean  heights.  A  dull  look  of  disappointment  set 
tled  in  every  eye.  No  one  spoke  as  Muriel  reluc- 


' '  MISS     TRA  U MERE  I "  31 

tantly  resumed  her  place.  Presently  an  impetuous 
youth  of  vigorous  speech  whispered  to  his  neighbor: 
"I  am  in  despair  at  such  ill  luck!  I  have  heard  him 
play  an  entire  piece  but  twice  in  as  many  years !"  But 
no  one  dared  to  request  the  Master  to  continue  to  the 
end,  and  the  lesson  went  on. 

"Bravo,  bravo!  you  have  played  well — very  well!" 
Still  under  the  influence  of  the  emotions  awakened 
by  her  performance,  Muriel  responded,  with  true  artis 
tic  sensitiveness,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice,  "Thank 
you,  dear  Master,"  and  quietly  folded  her  music  to 
gether. 

A  smooth-faced  young  fellow,  standing  on  the 
outer  edge  of  the  circle,  neared  the  piano.  "Oh,  ho, 
August!"  ejaculated  the  Master,  rising  and  folding 
him  to  his  breast,  "Why  so  late  to-day?"  The  pupils 
fell  aside  to  let  them  cross  the  room  arm  in  arm. 
One  of  the  younger  girls  grasped  Liszt's  hand  in 
passing  and  raised  it  to  her  lips.  A  shadow,  so  slight 
that  few  detected  it,  darkened  his  face  for  an  instant 
as  he  turned  to  see  who  it  was.  "Ah,  Mariechen,"  he 
said,  leaving  with  her  the  recollection  of  a  kindly 
smile.  Another  step,  and  some  one  else  had  him  by 
the  hand.  This  time  he  held  it  closely  to  his  side. 
Ilmstedt,  his  hair  falling  loosely  over  his  forearm, 
was  struggling  to  get  his  head  on  a  level  with  their 
clasped  hands.  With  a  quick  movement  Liszt 
patted  him  on  the  shoulder,  for  he  was  in  a  good  hu 
mor  and  did  not  wish  to  appear  entirely  unresponsive. 
Ilmstedt,  lifting  his  head,  gave  it  a  sideward  twist 
and  smacked  his  lips  at  space.  The  hand  that  had 


3  2  <  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

lingered  upon  his  shoulder  was  gone.  Two  other 
demonstrative  pupils  took  warning  at  this  and 
permitted  their  venerable  host  to  promenade  unmo 
lested.  Such  scenes  were  frequent.  None  but  the 
participants  gave  them  heed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"Amerika  seems  to  have  the  floor  to-day;  suppose 
you  play  us  something."  Liszt  stood  before  the 
young  stranger  in  the  corner,  regarding  him  closely 
from  under  his  heavy,  protruding  brows.  "Did  you 
bring  anything?" 

The  words  sent  a  chill  to  the  heart  of  the  American. 
Every  nerve  was  paralyzed  by  the  shock.  His  spirit 
seemed  to  have  left  its  body  for  the  time  being.  He 
heard  his  own  voice  reply  calmly,  "Yes,  Master,"  and 
noted  with  grim  amusement  its  hollow,  far-away 
sound.  Mechanically  he  unfastened  his  coat  and  drew 
a  folded  piece  of  music  from  the  inner  pocket.  He 
had  placed  it  there  hoping  to  escape  an  invitation  to 
play  at  the  first  lesson,  if  he  came  without  notes. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Liszt,  in  amused  surprise,  "have 
you  brought  such  trash  that  you  must  needs  conceal 
it?"  The  youth  felt  as  if  he  were  playing  a  part  in  a 
comedy  when  he  heard  himself  respond  diplomati 
cally,  "Nothing  from  the  Master  could  be  called 
trash!"  He  held- the  title  page  up  for  perusal  as 
he  spoke.  Leaning  forward  at  the  same  moment  the 
Master  recognized  his  own  "Faust  Fantaisie."  Wild 
gusts  of  laughter  caught  him  with  electrical  rapidity 
and  shook  him  until  his  countenance  assumed  an 
apoplectic  hue.  The  hilarity  became  general ;  Ilmstedt 
having  the  most  uproarious  attack,  out  of  policy. 
This  diversion  brought  the  American  to  himself.  Hot 


33 


34  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

and  cold  waves  tortured  his  body  from,  head  to  foot. 
With  the  sensitiveness  to  ridicule  common  to  mor 
tals,  he  resented  the  situation;  but  there  being  no  time 
for  soliloquy,  he  made  a  ghastly  effort  to  smile  in 
stead. 

The  composer  was  not  displeased,  it  was  evident, 
when  he  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  speak.  "Well, 
that  is  trash!  I  played  it  myself,  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  ago,  but  now,  every  boarding  school  girl  at 
tempts  it.  It  has  not  been  heard  in  this  room  for  many 

a  day ;  but "  he  pointed  to  the  piano  and  elevated 

his  shoulders  slightly  as  he  laughingly  forsook  the 
spot,  "I  am  willing — play  it!" 

For  various  reasons,  Liszt  declined  hearing  certain 
compositions  in  the  lessons.  An  unpleasant  associa 
tion  with  a  too  frequent  or  a  notably  bad  perform 
ance  of  a  piece,  would  often  occasion  its  protracted 
exile.  The  pupils,  therefore,  were  surprised  at  this 
concession  to  a  stranger,  and  thought  it  an  extraor 
dinary  mark  of  favor.  Instinctively,  Ilmstedt  sta 
tioned  himself  at  his  side  to  turn  the  leaves.  The 
Master  gave  the  signal  for  the  music  to  begin;  and, 
forthwith,  joined  a  small  group  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  room.  He  usually  made  the  initial  performance 
by  a  novice  a  rigorous  test  of  ability,  which  decided 
whether  the  aspirant  should  go  or  stay.  To-day  he 
turned  his  back  to  the  instrument  to  relate  an  amus 
ing  incident,  called  to  memory  by  the  foregoing  scene 
— apparently  deaf  to  other  sounds.  It  seemed  for  a 
time  as  if  the  newcomer  were  to  be  accepted  solely  on 
the  strength  of  the  fun  he  had  furnished,  when  Liszt, 


"MISS     TRAUMEREl"  35 

who,  as  usual,  had  not  lost  a  note,  made  a  wry  face 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  displeasure. 

"He  is  nervous  and  terribly  frightened,  Master," 
said  Muriel,  hoping  to  get  her  countryman  safely 
through. 

"Oh,  not  that,"  he  replied,  with  less  asperity,  "not 
that — he  plays  quite  well — it  is  the  piece.  Trashy 
stuff — trashy  stuff!"  He  approached  the  piano  and 
motioned  the  youth  to  rise.  "Well  played,"  he  said, 
lightly  touching  his  shoulder,  "well  played.  Now 
listen."  Dropping  into  the  chair,  he  burlesqued  two 
pages  of  the  piece  and  stopped.  "That  is  too  trivial," 
he  said,  tapping  the  notes  here  and  there  with  his  blue 
pencil;  "that  also — and  that!" 

"Ah!"  he  finally  said,  shutting  the  composition 
with  derisive  vigor,  "no  more  of  that!  You  played 
quite  well,"  he  added,  looking  up  reassuringly  at 
the  embarrassed  American,  "but  bring  something  else 
next  lesson." 

"May  I,  then,  play  the  Beethoven  Sonata,  Op.  78?" 

The  Master  did  not  hear  the  low-spoken  inquiry 
as  he  turned  to  glance  at  the  music  which  the  pupils 
had  deposited  on  the  round  table.  Muriel  answered 
for  him  in  English:  "I  am  sure  he  will  hear  that; 
but,  if  you  will  permit  me — this  is  my  third  year  here 
—I  will  suggest  one  of  his  own  compositions."  Her 
voice  fell  to  a  whisper,  and  she  gave  the  youth 
a  kindly  look  which  he  understood. 

"How  good  of  you!"  he  exclaimed,  flushing  with 
grateful  enthusiasm  and  grasping  her  hand.  "I  am 
doubly  indebted  to  you,  for  now  I  know  who  be- 


3  6  '  •  MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

friended  me  when  I  entered  the  room.  I  was  terribly 
embarrassed.  I  didn't  know  just  what  was  expected 
of  me." 

"Naturally.  But  you  will  feel  differently  when  you 
learn  the  singular  etiquette  of  the  house.  Then  he  is 
easy  to  approach,  and  a  delightful  companion.  Every 
one  loves  him;  but  the  majority  also  fear  him,  be 
cause  they  do  not  understand  him." 

"You  think,  then,  he  will  let  me  stay?" 

"Of  course!  Did  he  not  tell  you  to  play  next  les 
son?" 

"Yes— but— 

"Never  fear,"  said  Muriel,  with  smiling  assurance; 
"you  will  not  have  to  suffer  another  examination. 
You  may  congratulate  yourself  on  having  escaped  so 
lightly.  He  will  work  with  you  next  time." 

"I  have  just  brushed  up  his  A  major  concerto," 
the  youth  said,  reflectively;  "will  he  hear  that?" 

"You  couldn't  make  a  better  choice!  The  sonata 
will  do  for  the  following  lesson.  Let  me  introduce 
you  to  Arthur," — Muriel  indicated  a  beardless  young 
fellow  near  by,  whose  resemblance  to  Liszt  was  uni 
versally  remarked — "he  made  a  tremendous  success 
with  the  concerto  on  his  last  tour." 

"Ah,  yes;  I  read  of  it,"  murmured  the  youth,  his 
constrained  expression  rapidly  relaxing  into  one  of 
genial  surprise  at  this  timely,  disinterested  assistance 
from  an  unknown  and  charming  woman,  a  splendid 
artist  as  he  had  heard,  possibly  a  famous  one. 

"Perhaps  he  will  play  the  second  piano  part  for 
you." 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  37 

"Pardon  me — I  do  not  yet  know  your  name." 

"Rivington,"  he  answered;  "Walter  Rivington." 

Another  hour  passed  pleasantly,  the  assembly  prov 
ing  more  of  a  reunion — being  the  first  of  the  season 
— than  a  lesson.  A  little  Hollander,  a  great  favorite 
with  all,  played  in  fine  style  a  Chopin  sonata  which 
Liszt  had  selected  from  the  table. 

After  repeated  efforts  to  attract  his  notice  to  a  cer 
tain  transcription,  and,  finally,  being  forced  to  tell 
the  Master  that  he  had  obtained  it  under  peculiarly 
trying  circumstances,  Ilmstedt  secured  the  last  place 
on  the  programme.  He  received  but  brief  instruc 
tion — one  or  two  hints  and  a  reminiscent  remark. 
However,  he  was  overjoyed  to  be  even  so  short  a 
time  the  object  of  attention,  and  rose  from  the 
piano  with  a  proud  flash  of  the  eye  at  the  scattered 
groups. 

"We  have  not  had  much  of  a  lesson,"  said  the  Mas 
ter,  beginning  to  show  signs  of  weariness,  "but  it  will 
do  for  to-day.  Come  again  on  Thursday.  Adieu, 
dear  Norway." 

It  was  the  same  as  at  coming.  A  hand  pressure, 
a  courtly  kiss  on  the  forehead,  an  embrace — all  pro 
portionate  to  his  regard  for  the  pupil — and  a  hearty 
word  for  each. 

"Aufwiedersehen,  Amerika."  The  native  country 
or  city  of  a  pupil  sufficed  for  Liszt,  when;  he  forgot 
the  family  name.  However,  as  they  came  to  him  from 
every  civilized  portion  of  the  globe — sometimes  with 
unpronounceable  patronymics — such  an  omission  was 
quite  pardonable.  "Something  else  on  Thursday." 


38  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Will  you  hear  the  A  major  concerto,  Master?"  in 
quired.  Rivington,  having  by  this  time  recovered 
something  of  his  usual  ease  of  manner. 

"With  pleasure." 

"Thank  you,  Master." 

"So,"  he  repeated,  extending  his  hand  a  second 
time,  "the  concerto  on  Thursday.  Aufwiedersehen, 
Amerika!" 

This  evidence  of  goodwill  might  have  rendered 
so  emotional  a  creature  as  Rivington  utterly  speech 
less  but  for  his  gradual  revolution  of  feeling  since 
entering  the  salon.  He  made  a  hasty  exit,  seeming 
to  tread  thin  air  in  his  headstrong  desire  to  reach  an 
indefinite  some  one  to  whom  he  could  open  his  heart. 
Outside  the  door  he  faltered.  Naturally,  his  first 
thought  had  been  of  Muriel,  and  she  was  within.  For 
a  musical  artist,  he  was  as  modest  and  unselfish  as 
it  was  possible  to  be,  attributing  his  good  fortune 
entirely  to  her  aid.  To  whom  else,  then,  could  he, 
alone  and  a  stranger  in  Weimar,  look  for  sympathy  ? 
Impulsively,  he  decided  to  wait  until  she  came  from 
the  salon.  Being  a  well-bred  youth,  he  fancied  she 
looked  faintly  surprised  to  see  him  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  before  her;  and  then,  with  exaggerated  feeling, 
conscious  of  the  audacity  of  his  act  after  such  brief 
acquaintance,  he  stammered: 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  waiting  here ;  but  I — I— 

Seeing  his  confusion,  and  surmising  the  cause, 
Muriel  said,  in  a  manner  to  put  him  instantly  at  ease: 
"Why  so?  We  are  all  like  one  family — a  very  numer 
ous  one  later  in  the  season — and  it  pleases  the  Mas- 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  39 

ter."  They  stopped  in  the  ante-chamber  for  her  hat 
and  sunshade,  but  when  they  joined  the  other  pupils 
on  the  stairway,  Rivington  needed  nothing  to  arouse 
his  eloquence.  His  cheeks  were  glowing,  his  eyes 
sparkling,  when  Pauline,  who  stood  in  the  kitchen 
door  watching  them,  interrupted  his  recital  with  this 
inopportune  announcement:  "The  young  Count  has 
been  waiting  out  in  front  this  half  hour,  Missey!" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Murial  suavely.  Rivington  could 
not  tell  whether  she  was  glad  or  not.  She  stopped  to 
bid  the  housekeeper  a  hurried  farewell;  and  then,  he 
had  barely  time  to  say  a  final  word  of  thanks,  before 
they  reached  the  outer  door.  "It  gave  me  pleasure," 
she  said,  extending  her  hand  to  him  as  they  halted 
on  the  stoop.  "I  cannot  witness  in  others  such  suffer 
ing  as  I  experienced  at  my  first  lesson  in  that  room, 
if  I  can  ease  it  in  any  way." 

"You  are  never  nervous  now  when  you  play?" 

"Always!  We  fear  each  other;  not  the  Master. 
But  then,"  she  said,  looking  naively  down  upon  him, 
a  step  lower,  "each  must  bear  his  turn." 

"I  am  detaining  you,"  he  exclaimed,  noticing  her 
smile  a  recognition  over  his  shoulder.  "Good-by." 

"Aufwiedersehen!"  Muriel  gave  him  a  quick  hand 
pressure  and  descended  the  short  flight  before  him. 
Facing  about,  he  saw  a  tall  and  handsome  blonde- 
moustached  lieutenant  of  infantry,  his  hand  raised  in 
military  salute,  striding,  with  ringing  clank  of  sword, 
rapidly  towards  her.  He  was  superbly  uniformed  in 
black,  with  scarlet  coat  facings,  and  burnished  but 
tons,  and  a  cap  of  the  two  colors.  A  phrenologist 


40  "MISS     TRAUMEREIn 

would  have  called  his  head  the  ideal  type.  Certainly 
there  was  the  reverse  of  a  warlike  gleam  in  his  clear 
blue  eyes  as  they  rested  on  Muriel's  face. 

Seeing  the  young  couple  move  off  towards  the 
park,  Rivington  held  the  Alice  gate  slightly  ajar,  to 
watch  their  stately  tread;  for  Muriel  walked  noticeably 
well,  even  in  comparison  with  the  military  gait  of  her 
companion. 

He  relaxed  his  hand ;  the  lock  sprang  with  a  click. 
A  feeling  of  unutterable  loneliness  came  over.  him. 
With  the  image  of  the  bepadded,  richly  apparelled 
nobleman  in  his  eye,  his  gaze  fell  involuntarily  tipon 
his  own  gaunt  undeveloped  figure,  in  sober  civilian's 
dress.  Hastily  averting  his  head,  he  saw  the  reflec 
tion  of  his  dark,  boyish  locks  in  a  closed  side  window 
of  the  house.  With  a  flash  of  guilty  consciousness, 
he  sharply  scanned  the  windows  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street.  No  one  was  in  sight,  and  he  turned  rue 
fully  toward  the  city. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Facing  one  of  the  narrow  crooked  streets  of  the 
old  city,  whose  notoriously  bad  pavement  is  here  the 
roughest,  an  ancient,  gloomy  house  towers  conspicu 
ously  above  the  neighboring  gables  and  tile  roofs. 
The  facade,  with  its  round  arched  doorway  at  the 
left-hand  corner,  its  first  three  rows  of  windows  and 
the  intervening  patches  of  fruit  and  flowers  in  stucco, 
is  of  mediaeval  origin,  the  high  mansard  roof  having 
been  added  within  this  century.  Many  generations 
ago  it  was  one  of  the  grand  residences  of  the  little 
ducal  capital.  Even  yet  it  retains  an  air  of  genteel 
respectability  in  this  district  of  cheap  shops  and  tav 
erns.  At  one  side  of  the  great  entrance,  beneath  the 
depending  bell-wire  which  induces  such  a  jangling 
within,  is  a  low  stone  column. 

Gretchen,  the  pretty,  black-eyed  maid-of-all-work 
to  Frau  von  Berwitz,  the  mistress  of  the  mansion, 
sits  here  on  summer  evenings  after  the  tea  things 
are  put  by,  to  exchange  the  news  of  the  day  with  the 
neighborhood  gossips,  or — what  is  far  dearer  to  her 
heart — to  listen  to  the  wooing  of  her  blue-bloused 
lover  Hans.  With  the  stroke  of  ten  from  the  clock 
in  the  castle  tower  she  rises  and  says  good-night — in 
the  shadow  of  the  arch,  if  to  Hans,  and  with  a  par 
donably  greater  show  of  feeling  than  to  Frau 
Schwartz.  The  right  wing  of  the  heavy  door  opens 
and  shuts  to  the  discordant  music  of  a  tell-tale  bell; 


4  2  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

the  key  turns  noisily  in  the  rusty  lock,  and  is  not 
touched  again  until  Gretchen  appears  bright  and  early 
next  morning,  with  a  huge  wooden  contrivance 
strapped  to  her  back,  to  fetch  drinking  water  from  the 
neighboring  public  fountain.  She  hastens  her  foot 
steps;  for  before  she  serves  the  simple  breakfast  of 
coffee  and  rolls,  many  flowers  must  be  sprinkled  from 
the  tall  old-fashioned  pump,  standing,  like  a  one- 
armed  giant,  with  a  cannon  ball  in  his  hand,  at  a 
corner  of  the  open,  paved  inner  court. 

With  the  exception  of  the  second  story  back,  Frau 
von  Berwitz  occupies  the  entire  four  sides  of  the 
large  parallelogram  about  which  her  ancestral  home 
is  built.  The  end  and  side  wings,  topped  by  high 
steep  roofs  with  low  overhanging  eaves,  have  but 
two  floors,  the  first  being  divided  into  storage  and 
work-rooms.  The  doors  and  windows  mark  the  only 
breaks  in  the  rich  growth  of  purple  clematis  which 
climbs  to  the  open  gallery  on  the  front  and  left,  and 
to  the  long  row  of  tiny-paned  windows  on  the  right, 
humorously  dubbed  by  Muriel  the  "Cloister."  The 
rear  end  of  the  court  is  architecturally  plain,  save  a 
low.  round  tower,  with  a  spiral  stairway,  in  the  corner 
at  the  end  of  the  gallery.  At  the  end  of  this,  an  open 
passage,  closed  by  a  great  iron  door  at  night,  leads 
under  the  "Cloister"  to  the  private  garden,  a  rectan 
gular  area  at  the  side  of  the  mansion  and  in  the  rear 
of  a  broad  adjoining  building.  To  the  left,  and  on  a 
line  with  this  entrance,  is  the  "Garden  Salon,"  the 
cosy  corner  room  of  the  ancient  pile,  with  double 
glass  doors,  accessible  from  the  court  also,  and  be- 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  4  3 

yond  which  a  high  stone  wall  encloses  one  side  of  the 
garden.  On  the  side  opposite  the  wall  a  row  of  bushy 
trees  overhangs  an  old  paling  fence  and  obscures  the 
view  from  neighboring  private  grounds.  Along  a 
box-bordered  central  walk  roses  of  every  hue  bloom 
in  luxuriant  profusion;  they  shadow,  on  the  one 
hand,  neat  little  kitchen-garden  beds,  and,  on  the 
other,  solid  patches  of  pansies,  pinks,  marigold  and 
mignonette.  A  gravelled  terrace,  lower  by  three  steps 
and  terminating  a  dozen  feet  above  the  back  street, 
is  strewn  with  tables,  chairs,  and  settles  in  the  pro 
tecting  shade  of  some  small  trees  at  one  side  of  a 
stone  summer  house  occupying  two-thirds  of  this 
level.  By  the  iron  railing  surmounting  the  street 
wall,  a  dark  flight  of  worn  stone  steps  descends  to  the 
cellar  of  the  building,  which  has  an  exit  on  the 
street. 

The  summer-house  is  supposed  to  be  a  portion  of 
the  ancient  city  wall,  and  more  than  seven  hundred 
years  old.  Between  two  large  deep-set  windows,  a 
broad  arched  entrance  with  double  iron  doors — its 
massive,  oddly-shaped  key  a  delight  to  antiquarians 
— faces  the  central  walk.  Without,  rows  of  lemon, 
orange  and  fig  trees,  and  clambering  grape-vines  par 
tially  conceal  the  time-stained  walls.  Within,  the 
large  square  room  is  inviting  and  homelike.  Pretty, 
light  stuff  curtains  are  held  back  from  the  entrance 
and  windows;  rugs  cover  the  brick  floor;  comfort 
able  wicker  chairs  surround  a  large,  polished  centre 
table;  a  superannuated  grand  piano,  a  capacious 
sofa,  ottomans,  and  curious  tables  stand  in  relief 


44  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

against  the  tinted  walls;  and  high  up,  terra-cotta 
brackets  support  busts  cf  Carl  August,  Marie  Pa- 
lowna,  and  the  present  Grand  Duke  and  Duchess  Carl 
Alexander  of  Saxe-Weimar.  Antiques  of  interest 
adorn  the  mantel  and  niches  in  the  wall.  Opposite 
the  garden  door  a  square  opening  in  the  inner  wall 
communicates  with  a  narrow  corridor  which  runs 
across  the  street  front  of  the  house  and' is  lighted  by 
small,  old-fashioned  windows.  An  easy  couch  is  the 
only  practical  piece  of  furniture,  the  place  being 
stored  with  the  childish  toys  of  other  days. 

It  had  been  a  sort  of  play-room  since  time  un 
known.  There  was  a  period  when  it  saddened  the 
mistress  of  the  mansion  to  enter  here.  Years  have 
passed  since  then.  Now  she  selects  it  for  a  quiet  after- 
dinner  nap,  before  joining  the  few  intimate  friends 
who  usually  drop  in  about  four  o'clock  for  a  cup  of 
coffee  in  the  large,  cool  room,  with  its  inviting  out 
look  on  the  garden.  In  all  Weimar  no  more  secluded, 
restful  spot  can  be  found.  This  deep-cut,  deserted 
back  street  rarely  resounds  to  the  rumble  of  wheels. 
An  occasional  footfall  on  the  cobble  stones  seems  to 
rebound  and  lodge  somewhere  under  the  eaves  and 
on  the  high  stone  walls.  At  such  times  a  servant  in 
a  lordly  modern  residence  which  fronts  the  cross 
street,  peers  down  curiously  from  her  second-floor 
kitchen  opposite  the  old  garden.  This  constant  sur 
veillance  was  annoying  to  the  frequenters  of  the  ter 
race  until  Frau  von  Berwitz  set  up  a  movable  canvas 
screen.  In  acknowledgment,  the  servants  continued 
their  observations  less  offensively,  though  every  whit 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMERE1 "  45 

as  industriously  as  heretofore,  by  stealthy  peeps  irom 
behind  the  neat  muslin  curtains. 

Lounging  near  the  open  window,  long  after  the  mid 
day  dinner,  the  cook  was  apparently  oblivious  to  the 
doings  of  her  neighbors.  She  was  careful  not  to 
turn  her  head  when  a  trim  little  woman,  whose  face 
was  shadowed  by  a  plain  brown  chip  hat,  tripped 
daintily  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall ;  but,  she  said 
aloud  "Only  Fraulein  Panzer!"  Stopping  at  the 
summer-house  door,  Fraulien  Panzer  produced  a  key 
from  a  black  satin  reticule  on  her  arm  and  let  herself 
in.  A  moment  later  she  came  scrambling  out  on  the 
terrace,  the  soft  little  white  curls  quivering  about  her 
face  as  she  looked  furtively  over  her  shoulder  down 
the  dark  stairway.  The  cook,  drawing  back,  laughed 
immoderately  and  beckoned  to  the  butler. 

Finding  herself  safe  out  of  the  dungeon,  Fraulein 
Panzer  proceeded  serenely  around  the  corner  of  the 
stone  house,  without  having  spied  the  cackling  pair 
over  the  way.  The  little  lady's  clear  blue  eyes  opened 
in  astonishment  when  she  saw  the  curtains  drawn  at 
the  portal.  "Nah!"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath, 
standing  still  with  one  foot  on  the  step,  and  look 
ing  over  her  shoulder  at  the  mansion. 

It  was  a  sleepy  afternoon;  a  tardy  sun  had  just 
broken  the  rain-clouds,  and  nature  had  scarcely  be 
gun  to  awake  from  her  two  days'  lethargy.  The  steep 
gable  was  covered  by  green  vines  to  the  comb  of  the 
roof.  Heavy  shrubbery  concealed  the  entrance  to 
the  garden  salon;  but  at  the  open  windows  of  Mu 
riel's  apartment,  soft  white  curtains,  in  their  pictur- 


4  6  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

esque  setting  of  pink  and  white  rose  clusters,  were 
gently  stirred  by  the  breeze.  The  place  was  silent, 
and  apparently  deserted:  not  a  sound  from  the  street 
penetrated  the  stillness. 

Some  trees  by  the  side  wall  threw  long  shadows 
before  the  summer  house  where  Fraulein  Panzer  ir 
resolutely  stood.  A  deep-drawn  sigh  from  within 
made  her  suddenly  chirp  like  a  startled  bird  and  face 
about.  Lightly  springing  up  the  step  to  the  thresh 
old,  she  thrust  aside  the  hangings  and  began  to  laugh 
gaily,  thereby  rousing  a  matron  in  sober  black  who 
had  been  sleeping  soundly  in  an  easy-chair  by  the 
centre  table.  Slowly  lifting  her  face,  the  matron  re 
garded  her  visitor  through  half-opened  lids,  and  said 
drowsily,  "Ah,  Clara,  I  thought  it  was  you." 

Fraulein  Panzer  continued  to  laugh  without  ex 
plaining  the  reason,  as  she  looped  the  curtains  back 
and  let  a  flood  of  light  into  the  room. 

In  her  circle  of  intimates  Fraulein  Panzer  was 
known  as  the  "Canary  Bird."  Her  voice  was  mellow 
and  flute-like;  and  her  quick  sideward  twist  of  the 
head,  her  light  tripping  step,  her  merry  sprightly 
ways,  made  the  name  seem  very  appropriate. 

These  two  women,  the  closest  of  friends  since 
childhood,  and  differing  only  three  months  in  age, 
were  direct  opposites  physically  and  mentally.  Frau 
von  Berwitz,  the  elder,  had  an  erect,  full  figure,  just 
escaping  corpulency,  brown  eyes,  snow-white  hair, 
drawn  in  rippling  wavelets  gently  back  from  a 
broad,  high  forehead,  and  an  agreeable  contralto 
voice.  In  her  youth  she  had  been  a  famous  beauty, 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  47 

and,  until  the  end  of  her  brief  married  life,  a  reigning 
belle  at  the  Grand  Ducal  Court,  where  her  husband 
filled  high  office.  They  had  spent  money  so  freely 
that  his  death  left  her  in  possession  of  only  a  very 
limited  income  in  addition  to  the  home  which  she 
had  inherited.  Thenceforward,  she  confined  herself 
to  the  education  of  an  only  child,  a  girl  of  five,  revis 
iting  the  scene  of  her  former  triumphs  twice,  at  most, 
during  a  winter.  With  Teutonic  foresight,  she  took 
into  her  family,  to  learn  German,  one  or  two  young 
foreigners  who  could  afford  to  pay  liberally  for  so 
rare  a  privilege.  Thus  she  was  enabled  to  provide  the 
requisite  dower,  without  depleting  her  own  little 
hoard,  when  her  daughter,  at  twenty  years  of  age,  be 
came  the  wife  of  an  army  officer  stationed  at  Berlin. 
Through  acquaintance  with  the  latter,  Muriel  found 
a  home  at  the  old  mansion  on  first  coming  to 
Weimar. 

Frau  von  Berwitz  was  still  comely  to  behold.  Like 
her  friend,  her  step  was  elastic,  her  eye  undimmed, 
and  her  smooth  firm  skin  tinged  with  the  hue  of 
health.  A  passing  glimpse  of  these  two,  just  enter 
ing  on  the  final  decade  of  life,  inspired  pity  for  the 
unhappy  Ponce  de  Leon  in  his  fruitless  quest  for  the 
fountain  of  youth.  They  certainly  had  learned  the 
secret  of  its  source.  Frau  von  Berwitz  looked  like 
a  middle-aged  Juno  as  she  slowly  rose  from  her  chair 
and  gazed  from  her  stately  height  on  the  merry  little 
woman  flitting  to  and  fro  in  the  doorway.  As  she  no 
ticed  the  long  shadows  in  the  garden,  her  drowsiness 
vanished  in  a  twinkling.  "Can  it  be  so  late?"  she  e^- 


4  8  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

claimed,  in  surprise.  "It  seems  but  a  moment  since 
Muriel  went  out. 

Having  inquired  the  latter's  whereabouts,  Fraulein 
Panzer  tossed  her  hat  upon  the  piano,  and  ensconc 
ing  herself  in  an  easy-chair  opposite  her  hostess,  be 
gan  work  on  a  half-knit  brown  stocking.  She  was  of 
a  type  seldom  met,  who  entertain  others  merely  by 
their  presence.  One  followed  her  movements  as  one 
follows  those  of  a  bird,  with  lively,  sympathetic  in 
terest,  for  their  vivacious  spontaneity  was  more  elo 
quent  than  words.  She  conversed  well.  She  knew 
also  when  to  keep  quiet,  though  that  in  no  wise  ac 
counted  for  her  present  silence.  Her  laughing  eyes 
were  directed  to  the  long,  slender  needles  swiftly  al 
ternating  in  the  woolen  loop ;  and  an  occasional  twitch 
at  the  supply-thread,  which  caused  the'ball  to  flounce 
madly  in  the  reticule  on  her  arm,  seemed  to  accen 
tuate  her  unvoiced  amusement. 

"The  last  I  remember,  Muriel  called  'good-by,' " 
Frau  von  Berwitz  was  saying,  as  she  settled  her 
self  in  her  chair  and  took  up  some  fine  needlework. 
"Gretchen  must  have  found  me  nodding  when  she 
came  to  remove  the  coffee  service,  and  have  drawn 
the  curtains  to  protect  my  eyes  from  the  light.  Why 
do  you  laugh?"  she  inquired,  glancing  askance  from 
her  embroidery,  which  she  held  very  near  her 
face. 

"To  find  it  you,  and  not  the  ghost." 

"What  ghost?"  queried  the  dowager,  glancing 
amusedly  down  at  her  own  ample,  proportions. 
"Wherein  lies  the  resemblance?" 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  49 

"Have  you  forgotten,"  said  the  other,  "the  tale  old 
Johann  told  about  this  house  to  frighten  us  children 
from  the  garden  when1  we  annoyed  him?"  And  to 
gether  they  laughingly  recalled  the  dialect  used  by 
the  old  gardener  in  recounting  the  legend  of  a  for 
mer  occupant  of  the  citadel,  a  mediaeval  knight, 
whose  gnadige  Frau,  in  retaliation  for  his  cruelty  dur 
ing  her  lifetime,  was  wont  to  moan  at  midnight  be 
hind  the  portiere  of  his  sleeping-room.  Finally,  one 
morning,  he  was  discovered  sitting  upright  irr  bed, 
his  eyes  bulging  out  of  his  head  in  a  cold  and  glassy 
stare — dead ! 

"Served  him  right,"  said  Frau  von  Berwitz,  drying 
the  tears  of  merriment  which  trickled  down  her 
cheeks.  "It's  a  duty  every  maltreated  wife  owes  her 
sex.  So  you  thought  me  the  returned  spirit  of  that 
unhappy  woman!  No;  had  I  departed  before  my 
dear,  lamented  Heinrich,  it  would  have  been  unneces 
sary.  Never  did  better  husband  live !" 

"True,"  murmured  Fraulein  Panzer,  resuming  her 
knitting,  with  the  mental  addendum :  "An  early  death 
would  save  many  an  otherwise  lost  reputation." 

"No  wonder  I  was  restless  in  my  sleep,"  continued 
Frau  von  Berwitz  more  soberly,  also  taking  up  her 
work;  "we  didn't  have  half  enough  last  night.  Muriel 
and  I  sat  chatting  until — well,  no  matter  the  hour.  It 
was  wrong  of  me,  too,  for  the  dear  child  seems  far 
from  well." 

Forthwith  the  Canary  Bird  dropped  a  favorite  and 
sweetly  ringing  note  of  interrogation:  "Nah!  What 
is  it?" 


50  "MISS     TRAUMEREI*' 

"Overwork,  of  course.  Constitutionally  she  is 
strong  enough." 

"Overwork!     Humph!" 

"But,  you  know,  Clara,  her " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know.  She  is  quite  right  Every  girl 
should,  as  she  preaches,  be  taught  some  one  thing 
well.  But  she  is  a  great  artist  already.  It  seems  to 
me  that,  with  her  princely  income,  she  might  take 
life  a  trifle  less  seriously." 

"Precisely;  but  a  woman  of  five-and-twenty  is  her 
own  mistress;  and  if  she  will  not,  why —  "  an  ex 
pressive  uplifting  of  the  shoulders  completed  the  sen 
tence.  "I  remonstrated  about  the  lessons  for  this 
week,  but " 

"I  wonder  if  Fritz  von  Hohenfels  could  induce  a 
change  of  tactics?"  Fraulein  Panzer  covertly  studied 
the  effect  of  her  words  as  her  companion  raised  her 
head  to  respond. 

"I  am  sure  not!  What  an  unconscionable  time  he 
has  been  about  it,  anyway !" 

"You  were  not  quite  so  positive  when  we  last  dis 
cussed  it,  my  dear."  In  the  delicate  flush  that  swept 
over  her  face  the  speaker  betrayed  a  personal  inter 
est  in  the  subject  which  her  words  strove  to  conceal. 
However,  she  bent  lower  over  her  work,  and  the 
other  failed  to  see  her  confusion. 

"Nor  was  I,  until  last  night." 

"How  so?" 

"It  came  about  in  this  way,"  began  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz,  in  that  subdued,  impressive  tone  which  makes 
the  hearer  feel  that,  but  for  this  opportune  outlet,  the 


« 'MISS    TRA  UMEREI "  5 1 

pent-up  news  would  explode  the  narrator;  and  Frau 
lein  Panzer,  duly  convinced  of  it,  rested  on  her  knit 
ting-needles — to  borrow  a  nautical  form  of  expres 
sion — in  order  to  lose  none  of  it. 

"Muriel  was  laughing  about  a  penniless  nobleman 
in  Berlin,  who  last  week  inquired  of  her  banker 
the  size  of  her  letter  of  credit,  and  immediately  threw 
himself  at  her  feet  with  the  wildest  protestations  of 
adoration.  She  is  reticent  concerning  herself,  as  you 
know;  so,  seeing  my  chance,  I  cautiously  referred  to 
Count  von  Hohenfels  as  a  possible  suitor  for  her 
hand.  What  do  you  suppose  she  said?"  Fraulein 
Panzer  could  scarcely  repress  her  impatience,  in  her 
eager  excitement  to  hear  faster  than  could  be  told, 
when  Frau  von  Berwitz  hesitated  before  giving  the 
reply:  "Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof!" 

"Oh!"  chirped  the  little  Canary  Bird  sharply,  star 
tled  and  wounded  by  this  unlooked-for  thrust  at  her 
beloved  godson ;  she  straightened  portentously  in  her 
chair,  only  to  relax  her  features  again  and  utter  a 
mollified  "Ah!"  at  Frau  von  Berwitz's  concluding 
sentence. 

"  'But  I  hope  he  won't  spoil  our  friendship  by  any 
such  nonsense,'  she  went  on,  not  alluding  to  him 
after,  and  declaring  it  her  purpose  never  to  marry." 

Fraulein  Panzer's  brows  expressed  incredulity ;  her 
eyes,  hope. 

Observing  this,  Frau  von  Berwitz  hastened  to  ex 
plain.  "Ah,  but  she  meant  it!  Listen!  It  was  just 
five  years  ago  yesterday  that  she  was  to  have  mar 
ried  her  brother's  law  partner,  a  young  man  ten  years 


52  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

her  senior.  A  fortnight  before,  they  went  with  a  party 
of  friends  for  an  afternoon's  yachting.  The  vessel 
capsized.  Of  twelve  souls  aboard,  eight  were  lost. 
He  was  one.  She  was  picked  up  as  dead  by  a  rescu 
ing  boat.  Fearful  of  the  shock  to  her  mind,  her 
friends  hurried  her  off  to  Europe  for  a  change.  In 
course  of  time  she  found  consolation  in  music;  so 
they  left  her  here,  and  she  has  never  returned  home. 
There  is,  I  believe,  a  compact  that  some  one  of  them 
shall  visit  her  annually  during  her  absence.  Both 
parents  are  dead ;  the  brother  and  sisters  are  married, 
and  have  families  of  their  own.  They  all  offer  her  a 
home,  and  beg  her  to  come;  but — you  know  how  it 
is." 

"That  I  do!  She  is  wise!"  ejaculated  the  spinster, 
with  fervency  inspired  by  a  momentary  vision  of  a 
cosy  home  near  by,  where  she  constituted  the  family. 
"And?" 

"In  short,  her  heart  is  buried ;  she  will  never  marry." 
With  a  sympathetic  moistening  of  the  eye,  Fraulein 
Panzer  requested  the  details  of  the  tragedy  which  had 
darkened  the  recent  years  of  Muriel's  life,  accompany 
ing  the  recital  with  a  broken,  low-voiced  plaint  like 
the  distant  song  of  a  nightingale.  "Oh,  pshaw!"  she 
interjected,  suddenly  recovering  her  buoyant  spirits 
and  resonant  upper  notes  with  the  air  of  having  parted 
company  with  a  leaden  ballast;  "she  will  get  over  it, 
my  dear.  Never  fear!  I  have  studied  her  closely; 
and  did  I  not  recognize  the  growing  want  which 
prompts  it,  I  should  be  inclined  to  laugh  at  her  vague 
notions  about  spending  her  time  and  money  for  the 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  53 

good  of  her  country-people;  or — for  aught  I  know — 
the  entire  human  race,  when  she  shall  have  com 
pleted  her  musical  studies  here." 

"At  any  rate,  Clara,  she  is  terribly  in  earnest." 
"True;  but  she  is  drifting  like  a  ship  without  an 
anchor,  and  must  find  a  mooring  sooner  or  later.  Her 
love  has  had  a  backset,  and  at  her  age,  with  her  crav 
ing  for  affection,  it  will  revive  some  day,  in  over 
whelming  intensity.  Then  the  entire  human  race  will 
have  to  abdicate  for  one  man." 

"Candidates  are  persistent  enough  already." 
"Better  say  fortune-hunters!     Some  sincere  man 
will  win  her  heart,  though,  before  she,  knows  it;  and 
then  she  will  frankly  admit  her  present  delusions." 

"Maybe!"  remarked  Frau  von  Berwitz  skeptically, 
"but  only  a  more  powerful  will  than  her  own  could 
accomplish  that." 
"Surely  Fritz  von  Hohenfels  has  given  us  proof  of 


"Ah,  well,"  Fraulein  Panzer  began  anew  at  an  in 
dication  of  a  demurrer  from  the  hostess,  "where  is  there 
another  like  him?  He  bears  one  of  the  proudest 
names  in  the  Empire,  has  a  fine  property,  no  vices,  a 
kindly  disposition,  is  devoted  to  music;  he  is  blessed 
with  rare  good  looks,  and  is,  moreover,  madly  in  love 
with " 

"Sh!  There  is  some  one  coming,"  came  the  warn 
ing  from  Frau  von  Berwitz,  and  none  too  soon,  in 
deed,  for  a  moment  later  Muriel  Holme  and  Count 
von  Hohenfels  appeared  before  them. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Count  Friedrich  von  Hohenfels  was  consecrated — 
body  to  the  army,  and  soul  to  music.  The  former 
very  much  against  his  own  will,  and  the  latter  ex 
pressly  against  that  of  a  stern  parent.  In  his  early 
youth  he  had  been  bold  enough  to  petition  his  un 
loving  and  unloved  paternal  relative's  consent  to  an 
artistic  career.  To  crush  this  plebeian  desire,  young 
Fritz  was  promptly  hurried  into  a  military  training 
school  and  forced  to  swear  eternal  allegiance  to  an 
army  life  on  penalty  of  his  birthright.  But  defeat, 
instead  of  smothering  the  flame  of  his  ruling  passion, 
only  fanned  it  to  a  brighter  inward  glow.  Its  outward 
gleam,  however,  was  sternly  repressed  as  incompati 
ble  with  the  bold,  combative  spirit  of  a  soldier.  With 
a  morose  purpose  to  fulfill  to  the  last  degree  the  let 
ter  of  his  agreement,  he  even  avoided  prominence  in 
the  simple  musical  relaxations  of  his  own  circle.  He 
maintained  a  reputation  for  good  comradeship  only 
by  spending  an  evening  or  two  each  week  with  his 
convivial  military  brethren,  listening  to  the  regimental 
band  at  Werther's  garden  or  at  the  Armbrust.  None 
of  them  knew  of  the  rapt  hours  he  spent  at  his  piano  in 
his  own  secluded  apartments  in  an  unfrequented  street, 
voicing  in  music  the  changeful,  turbulent  emotions  of 
his  intense  nature.  The  longing  for  sympathetic,  hu 
man  response  became,  at  times,  almost  unbearable. 

Living  in  this  way,  within  himself,  without  inti- 

54 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  55 

mates,  he  met  Muriel  Holme  at  coffee  at  Fraulein 
Panzer's  one  afternoon,  early  in  the  first  summer 
of  her  stav  in  Weimar.  On  that  memorable 
occasion,  while  he  listened  wearily  to  platitudes,  the 
hostess  carelessly  informed  him  that  Miss  Holme 
was  one  of  that  brilliant  circle  which  he  longed  to 
cultivate  and  dared  not — the  Lisztianer!  Hohenfels 
felt  his  heart  give  one  sudden  thump,  and  instantly 
the  young  gentlewoman  before  him  appeared  as  if 
invested  with  Pandora's  charms.  She,  on  the  con 
trary,  placidly  and  almost  immediately,  took  her 
leave,  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
to  be  a  Lisztianer. 

After  a  decent  interval  of  two  days  he  paid  Frau 
von  Berwitz,  a  friend  of  his  mother's  since  childhood, 
a  long-delayed  visit.  The  summer  grew  and  waned 
like  a  dream,  to  him  at  least;  and  when  Muriel 
HcJme  had  departed  for  Berlin,  he  awoke  to  the 
knowledge  that  her  presence  was  necessary  to  his 
happiness.  Never  before  had  a  woman's  face  come 
between  him  and  his  piano.  Hitherto  he  had 
thought  of  marriage  in  a  vague,  disinterested  sort 
of  way,  as  something  ultimate  and  not  relevant  to 
the  present.  As  day  followed  day,  and  the  old 
routine  of  life  forced  itself  upon  him,  the  sense  of 
his  loss  fell  like  a  pall  over  his  soul.  He  missed 
the  musical  afternoons  and  evenings  in  Muriel's  prac 
tice  room  in  the  old  rose-garden;  and,  above  all,  he 
felt  the  absence  of  her  refined  companionship. 

He  had  said  at  parting,  "I  shall  miss  you  terribly!" 
without  realizing  the  full  import  of  his  words. 


56  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

His  hatred  of  the  parade-ground  had  been  tem 
porarily  subdued  by  a  happy  summer,  but  now  it 
came  back  with  redoubled  force.  He  was  convinced 
that  his  hitherto  unendurable  lot  would  be  endur 
able  with  her  near.  This  fact  he  communicated  to 
his  father.  As  was  to  be  expected,  the  latter  thought 
otherwise,  and  threatened  to  disinherit  him  should 
he  marry  an  American.  His  cousin,  the  heiress  to 
a  rich  estate  joining  his  own  lands,  the  last  of  an 
ancient  and  noble  line,  was  just  coming  of  age.  Over 
look  such  an  alliance?  Never!  Fritz  was  obdurate. 
His  father  thereupon  promptly  curtailed  his  allow 
ance,  which  had  never  been  generous — the  pay  of 
a  lieutenant  in  the  German  army  is  a  mere  pittance — 
to  a  sum  barely  sufficient  to  keep  him  clear  of  debt, 
until  he  should  accede  to  the  demand.  Under  this 
iron  rule  he  was  powerless  to  swerve  from  the  pre 
scribed  groove. 

Another  summer,  and  with  it  to  Weimar  came 
Muriel  Holme.  Again  he  knew  happiness;  living 
in  the  present,  blind  to  the  future;  never  speaking 
to  her  of.  love,  only  hoping,  fearing,  praying,  he 
shrank  from  wording  his  thoughts. 

Reward  came  unexpectedly.  Three  weeks  pre 
vious  to  the  opening  of  this  story  the  tyrannical 
father  died  suddenly  of  apoplexy.  Fritz  passed  a 
fortnight  at  Hohenfels  administering  the  estate.  The 
terms  of  the  will  exacted  of  him  but  one  distasteful 
condition — a  military  life.  At  last  he  was  free  to 
woo  the  wife  of  his  choice,  but  not  in  Berlin,  for  duty 
called  him  imperatively  to  Weimar.  Muriel  had  a 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  5  7 

short  note  from  him  announcing-  his  bereavement;  in 
his  impatience  of  delay  he  would  have  written  then 
and  there  of  marriage,  had  his  mother  not  dissuaded 
him.  "She  would  rather  hear  it  from  your  own  lips, 
if  she  loves  you,"  she  had  said ;  and,  after  deliberation, 
he  thought  so  too.  The  next  day  Fraulein  Panzer 
received  a  long  letter  from  the  Countess,  the  con 
tents  of  which  she  kept  secret.  Her  reply  was  a 
telegram  of  three  words,  "She  comes  to-night,"  sent 
to  Castle  Hohenfels  the  day  of  Muriel's  return  to 
Weimar. 

When  the  Count  met  Muriel  after  the  lesson  at 
Liszt's,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  curbed  a  strong 
impulse  to  hold  her  to  his  breast  and  whisper  a  ten 
der  "at  last!" 

"How  did  you  learn  of  my  arrival?"  she  asked  as 
they  neared  the  rustic  gate. 

"Bernsdorf  told  me  on  the  parade-ground — had 
seen  you  passing  the  guard-house.  The  minutes 
seemed  hours  until  I  was  free  to  come  to " 

Muriel's  music  slipped  from  her  grasp,  and  the 
Count  was  compelled  to  lift  it.  "I  will  carry  it,"  he 
said,  as  she  extended  her  hand. 

"Not  in  that  uniform,"  she  replied,  with  appre 
ciation  of  German  military  customs,  and  carrying 
her  point.  He  stopped  once  more  to  open  the  gate, 
and  as  they  passed  into  the  park,  a  boy  of  twelve,  go 
ing  in  the  same  direction,  overtook  them.  "Ah, 
Hermann,"  said  Muriel,  pressing  his  hand  cordially, 
"is  it  possible  to  grow  so  tall  in  one  year!"  She  prat 
tled  with  him  in  this  strain  through  the  park,  across 


5  8  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

the  town  to  the  very  door  of  the  old  garden  house. 
Hohenfels'  face  was  scarlet  with  ill-concealed  vexa 
tion  as  they  bade  the  child  adieu  and  ascended  to 
the  terrace.  Then  he  observed  the  prying  eyes  across 
the  way,  and,  turning  the  corner  of  the  summer-house, 
heard  voices  within.  Another  moment,  and  they 
stood  before  Frau  von  Berwitz  and  Fraulein  Panzer. 
The  latter  saw  his  discomfiture  at  a  glance,  and  gave, 
by  her  infectious  laughter,  such  a  happy  tone  to  the 
hum  of  general  greetings  that  the  cloud  faded  from 
his  face.  Muriel  declined  to  be  seated,  saying  she 
wished  the  Count  to  try  her  new  piano,  one  of  Amer 
ican  make,  which  had  been  set  up  in  her  music-room 
— the  garden  salon — that  morning,  and  she  asked  the 
others  to  join  them  there.  It  was  her  ruse  to  avoid 
a  conversation,  for  she  was  more  fatigued  from 
the  excitement  of  the  afternoon  than  she  would  have 
admitted,  in  face  of  Frau  von  Berwitz's  opposition 
to  her  playing  in  the  lesson.  Moreover,  she  did  not 
purpose  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  voicing  the 
sentiment  which  his  eyes  had  expressed  as  they  left 
the  Royal  Gardens. 

"Presently,  my  dear,  presently!"  said  Fraulein  Pan 
zer  in  response  to  Muriel's  bidding,  which  the  Count 
had  heard  with  annoyance ;  but  his  face  brightened  as 
she  subjoined,  "we  old  women  have  something  of 
importance  to  settle  before  we  can  come.  Ah,  yes, 
Fritz,  I  came  near  forgetting.  Can  you  come  to  me 
about  eleven  to-morrow  morning?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Count,  after  a  moment's  reflec 
tion,  "with  pleasure." 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  59 

Frau  von  Berwitz  at  once  extended  to  both  guests 
an  invitation  for  tea,  to  celebrate  Muriel's  return. 
"Now  run  along,  children,  to  your  music."  Frau- 
lein  Panzer  recklessly  flourished  her  knitting  in  the 
direction  of  the  garden  salon,  and  promptly  re 
sumed  work. 

Feeling  that  he  had  a  powerful  ally  in  his  jolly 
little  godmother,  the  Count  sauntered  up  the  gar 
den  walk  at  Muriel's  side  to  a  long  rose  arch,  where 
a  short  path  led  at  right  angles  to  the  broad  open 
doorway  of  the  music-room.  It  was  a  large 
square  apartment,  with  a  painted  floor;  gayly  col 
ored  rugs  dotting  it  here  and  there,  like  so  many 
islets.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  the  eighteenth 
century  about  the  room;  a  suggestion  due  to  the  an 
tique  furniture  in  cherry  and  gilt,  the  wall  decora 
tions  and  two  mirrors  and  some  early  Italian  land 
scapes  in  quaint  frames.  The  light  was  admitted 
through  double  glass  doors  in  cool  weather;  the  sin 
gle  side  window,  on  a  back  alley,  being  curtained  with 
brightly-flowered  cretonne,  like  that  which  formed 
the  portiere.  A  new  concert  grand  piano,  enveloped, 
all  but  the  legs,  in  a  drab  waterproof,  occupied  the 
centre  of  the  room.  "I  detest  those  things,"  said 
Muriel,  snatching  the  covering  from  the  instrument 
with  one  impatient  sweep,  rolling  it  into  a  ball  and 
tossing  it  upon  a  closet  shelf. 

"I  never  knew  a  pianist  that  did  not,"  observed 
Hohenfels  softly,  as  he  raised  the  lid. 

"Gretchen  is  more  practical  than  aesthetic  in  her 
taste,"  she  continued,  unmindful  of  his  words, 


60  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

"Superb!"  exclaimed  the  Count  ecstatically,  run 
ning  his  fingers  lightly  over  the  keys,  then  dropping 
into  a  simple,  sustained  melody,  and  ending  the  short 
extemporization  with  a  tumultuous  crescendo  of  pow 
erful  chords. 

"Magnificent!" 

"I  like  it,"  said  Muriel,  who  had  hung  her  hat  on  a 
peg  in  the  closet,  and  was  drawing  an  easy  chair  be 
fore  the  door,  where  she  could  look  out  on  the  wan 
ton  display  of  roses  and  inhale  their  exquisite  perfume. 
"To  my  mind  it  surpasses  any  European  piano." 

The  Count  had  risen  and  was  coming  towards  her. 

"Play  me  something,"  she  said  hastily,  sinking 
into  her  chair ;  "it  rests  me  when  I  am  tired." 

He  stopped,  hesitated  an  instant,  but  there  was  no 
disregarding  the  tone  and  look,  and  he  reluctantly  re 
turned  to  the  instrument.  He  thought  she  had  fallen 
asleep,  for  her  head  leaned  back  and  her  eyelids  were 
closed.  He  saw  that  every  vestige  of  color  had  left 
her  face,  as  unobserved  he  watched  her  delicate  pro 
file  lined  against  the  light,  while  his  fingers  wandered 
gently  over  the  keys. 

"Don't  stop,"  she  said,  opening  her  eyes  when  the 
final  notes  died  tenderly  away  under  his  touch;  "nor 
feel  obliged  to  play  so  gently  on  my  account.  Suit 
your  own  fancy,  be  it  lively  or  subdued." 

"H'm,"  the  little  Canary  Bird  was  saying  to  herself, 
with  some  vexation,  out  in  the  summer-house,  when 
Frau  von  Berwitz  left  her  a  few  minutes  to  give  an 
order  about  tea,  "if  Fritz  wins  here  it  will  be  through 
the  medium  of  that  piano.  The  boy  must  be  crazy !" 


« 'MISS     TRAUMEREI "  6 1 

Commenting  thus,  she  gave  the  yarn  an  angry  jerk, 
violently  agitating  the  ball  in  the  reticule,  and,  with 
compressed  lips,  did  a  deal  of  thinking  before  her 
hostess  reappeared. 

"Come,  Clara,"  said  Frau  von  Berwitz,  starting  to 
close  one  of  the  heavy  iron  doors;  "they  are  expect 
ing  us." 

"Maybe;  but  they  don't  want  us." 

'Think  so?" 

Fraulein  Panzer  burst  into  one  of  her  inimitably 
musical  laughs  for  reply.  Frau  von  Berwitz,  willing 
to  be  convinced,  swung  the  massive  door  back  again 
and  took  up  her  embroidery. 

Gretchen  found  the  two  sitting  here  when  she  came 
a  half-hour  later  to  announce  tea.  She  lingered  a 
moment  to  close  and  lock  the  double  doors,  while 
the  ladies  went  to  summon  the  young  people  from 
the  garden  salon.  The  Count  was  still  at  the  piano, 
and  Muriel  resting  with  closed  eyes  in  her  former  po 
sition.  After  a  second  futile  attempt  to  approach 
her  he  had  been  forced  to  yield  to  her  wishes  out  of 
consideration  for  her  obvious  need  of  repose.  Thus 
withheld,  he  sought  by  his  art  to  express  the  senti 
ments  which  he  might  not  utter  in  word;  but  the 
means  were  sadly  inadequate,  and  Fritz  had  as  yet 
received  no  response  from  the  dear,  pale  face,  which 
it  had  been  his  joy  to  scan  steadfastly  during  the  past 
hour. 

Muriel  looked  up  as  the  two  ladies  approached  the 
rose  bower.  "Aren't  you  coming?"  she  inquired  in 
surprise, 


6  2  '  >MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

"We  heard  perfectly  in  the  summer-house,"  said 
Frau  von  Berwitz.  Muriel  instinctively  felt  the  an 
swer  to  be  a  subterfuge,  the  cause  of  which  she  easily 
divined. 

Upon  leaving  the  room  Muriel  and  the  Count 
sought  the  stone  court  through  a  small  brick  entry, 
overtaking  the  two  elderly  ladies  in  the  further  cor 
ner  by  the  great  pump.  Entering  a  dark  corridor 
through  an  open  arch  three  steps  higher,  they  came 
to  a  triple-jointed  stairway,  on  the  second  landing  of 
which  a  glass  door  communicated  with  the  Cloister; 
on  the  third  landing  two  more  doors  gave  access  to 
living  apartments  of  the  household,  and  to  the  open 
gallery.  Near  one  of  the  doors  a  porcelain  handle, 
attached  to  a  depending  bell  wire,  bore  "Von  Berwitz" 
in  black  letters. 

The  faithful  Gretchen  unlocked  the  door  with  an 
oddly-shaped  little  key,  which  was  strung  like  a 
locket  on  her  neck,  and  admitted  the  quartette  to  a 
large,  square  vestibule,  containing  a  long  pier  glass, 
several  pieces  of  antique  rosewood  furniture,  and  a 
bewildering  array  of  blue  and  drab  Rhine  pottery 
in  various  ornamental  designs.  The  door  to  the 
drawing-room,  the  centre  of  the  three  family  rooms 
across  the  front  of  the  house,  stood  open,  revealing 
a  polished  floor  strewn  with  rugs ;  and,  in  marked  con 
trast  to  the  general  appearance  of  the  vestibule  and 
garden  apartments,  modern  appointments  were  vis 
ible  everywhere. 

It  was  a  homelike  suite,  with  the  library  on  the  left 
and  the  dining-room  on  the  right,  both  visible  beyond 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  63 

the  graceful  folds  of  heavy  portieres.  Indeed,  it 
could  not  have  been  otherwise  than  homelike  under 
the  artistic  and  practiced  eye  of  Frau  von  Berwitz. 
Her  large  round  tea-table,  its  spotless  linen  con 
trasting-  with  a  broad,  low  centre  decoration  of  deep 
red  roses,  fairly  glistened  with  its  array  of  hand 
some  china,  cut  glass  and  old  family  silver.  As  they 
all  listened  with  bowed  heads  to  a  simple  grace  from 
the  hostess,  Hohenfels  was  hoping  with  the  fervor  of 
a  hungry  heart  that  Muriel  might  soon  preside  at 
his  table — it  should  be  just  such  an  one — and  think 
ing  how  fondly  he  would  look  into  her  eyes,  lean 
forward  and — the  "Amen"  came  none  too  soon,  for 
he  could  scarce  restrain  an  impulse  to  slip  his  hand 
under  the  table  and  give  hers  a  stealthy  pressure. 

At  the  sound  of  voices,  a  yellow  canary,  hanging  in 
his  gilt  cage  between  the  soft  white  curtains  of  the 
single  window  and  just  above  a  broad  casement  of 
scarlet  geraniums,  began  to  chirp  pleadingly.  He 
stood  at  the  limit  of  his  perch,  his  little  head  turning 
from  right  to  left,  gazing  wistfully  from  his  bead-like 
eyes  on  the  silent  company. 

"Sweet— sweet?"  answered  Fraulein  Panzer,  in  a 
voice  as  dulcet  as  his  own,  and  so  close  upon  the 
low-spoken  "Amen"  that  everybody  smiled.  The  lit 
tle  fellow  puffed  out  his  downy  throat  and  broke  into 
an  overjoyous  warble  at  this  greeting,  for  it  was  the 
season  of  long  twilights,  and  the  quieting  influence 
of  slowly  coming  night  had  not  yet  subdued  his 
spirit. 

"Take  him  into  the  drawing-room,  Gretchen,"  said 


64  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

Frau  von  Berwitz,  "or  we  shall  not  be  able  to  hear  a 
word." 

A  large,  glossy  black  cat,  looking  very  much  like 
a  fluffy  silken  ball,  lay  sleeping  on  a  chair.  As  the 
maid  lifted  the  cage  over  his  head  he  opened  a  pair 
of  topaz  eyes,  which  gleamed  with  an  eger,  wicked 
light  at  sight  of  the  tiny  songster.  With  a  noiseless 
bound  he  was  on  the  floor,  head  up,  every  muscle 
alert,  treading  stealthily  near  the  gilded  prison.  The 
bird  fluttered  uneasily  against  the  bars,  and  Gretchen, 
hearing  a  frightened  chirp,  quickly  raised  the  cage. 
"Sh!"  came  sharply  from  between  her  teeth,  with  a 
menace  at  the  cat.  The  animal  shrank  back,  but 
when  Muriel  cried  out  to  him,  "Come,  Mime!  Come 
my  Mimechen,"  he  needed  no  second  bidding  to 
spring  into  his  mistress's  lap  and  sit  there  blinking 
and  purring  loudly.  As  the  meal  progressed  and 
attention  was  diverted  from  him,  he  slyly  reached  to 
wards  her  plate,  caught  a  piece  of  cold  tongue  in 
his  claws  and  slipped  to  the  floor. 

Hohenfels,  absorbed  in  the  scene  and  envying  the 
cat  Muriel's  caresses,  was  aroused  by  Frau  von 
Berwitz's  voice.  She  had  finished  pouring  the  tea 
from  a  little  silver  urn,  surmounted  by  Lohengrin's 
swan,  and  was  opening  a  sealed  envelope  which  lay 
on  her  plate. 

"With  your  permission,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
anxiously  awaiting  this." 

•  Lifting  her  eyeglasses,  she  hastily  read  the  letter,  3. 
look  of  glad  surprise  growing  in  her  face. 

"Carl  will  be  here  at  one  o'clock  to-night,"  she  said, 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  65 

addressing  Fraulein  Panzer.  Then  turning  to  the 
others,  "Mr.  Stanford,  an  American  whom  I  brought 
up  is  coming  for  a  visit.  He  was  only  six  and  his 
sister  eight  when  their  father,  a  captain  in  the  United 
States  Navy,  brought  them  to  me.  Their  mother 
requested  it  on  her  deathbed.  She  was  English,  and 
had  been  educated  here  in  Weimar.  To  be  brief, 
they  stayed  with  me  twelve  years,  and,  truly,  I  love 
them  as  my  own.  Helen  was  married  to  a  physician 
in  New  York  a  year  or  so  after  their  return.  Carl 
went  to  Harvard  College  and  became  a  lawyer.  He 
spent  a  part  of  every  summer  with  me  until  three 
years  ago.  This  is  his  first  trip  to  Europe  since  then. 
He  reached  London  a  fortnight  ago  on  business  of 
such  a  pressing  nature  that  he  was  doubtful  of  visit 
ing  Weimar;  but  now  he  really  is  coming,  and,  I 
hope,  for  a  long  stay.  I  am  sure —  Wishing 

them  to  like  him,  Frau  von  Berwitz  checked  the 
words  of  adulation  on  her  lips. 

Muriel  and  Hohenfels  were  both  secretly  vexed  to 
hear  of  the  approaching  visit,  though  from  widely 
different  causes.  In  the  first  place,  Liszt's  early  re 
turn  to  Weimar  had  frustrated  the  plan  of  recreation 
which  her  health  demanded.  Accepting  that,  then, 
as  inevitable,  she  had  resolved  to  avoid  all  social  in 
tercourse  until  such  a  time  as  the  independent  semi- 
open-air  life  at  the  old  mansion  should  restore  her 
to  her  normal  physical  condition.  How  would  that 
be  possible  after  the  advent  of  a  stranger?  As  a 
member  of  the  household  she  would  have  to  exert 
herself  to  be  affable,  and  she  was  under  too  severe 


66  "MfSS    TRAUMERET" 

a  strain  already.  What  she  needed  was  freedom,  and 
apparently  she  had  had  the  last  of  it.  To-morrow 
would  come  this  man,  in  whom  she  felt  no  interest. 
To  be  sure  she  had  heard  Frau  von  Berwitz  mention 
his  name  occasionally,  and  there  was  a  photograph 
of  him  in  the  library,  which  had  not  impressed  her 
more  than  the  picture  of  any  other  young  man, 
though  it  was  said  to  be  a  poor  reproduction.  At 
any  rate  he  was  coming  at  the  wrong  time ;  he  would 
always  be  sitting  in  the  garden,  where,  after  a  long 
practice,  she  liked  to  walk  the  central  path,  with  her 
arms  crossed  behind  her  to  expand  her  lungs.  She 
was  not  especially  opposed  to  his,  but  to  any  one's 
entering  the  household.  She  knew  it  would  hamper 
her  movements  in  every  way.  Her  features,  however, 
gave  no  indication  of  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 

Presently  the  meal  was  over,  and  she  was  left 
alone  with  Frau  von  Berwitz.  They  sat  a  few  mo 
ments  conversing  in  the  drawing-room;  then,  saying 
"good-night,"  Muriel  started  wearily  down  the  Cloister. 
A  long  line  of  ancestral  portraits  on  her  right  seemed 
so  many  living  images  pressing  towards  her  in  the 
dim  light  from  without.  Drawing  herself  together 
with  a  faint  shudder,  she  tripped  airily  enough  the 
rest  of  the  way  to  her  rose-embowered  suite  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor,  just  above  the  garden  salon. 

The  moon  was  not  yet  up  as  she  took  a  last  look 
at  the  starry  night.  The  garden  below  lay  partially 
obscured  in  shadow,  but  its  sweet,  fresh  fragrance 

rilled  the  air.  "To-morrow — ah,  me "  she  sighed, 

"it  will  be  changed!" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  rising  sun,  streaming-  in  at  the  open  window, 
stole  athwart  Muriel's  face  by  half-past  six,  and  broke 
her  deep  slumber.  She  was  invigorated  by  a  long, 
undisturbed  rest,  and  the  first  fresh  breath  of  the  early 
morning,  freighted  with  the  aromatic,  perfumes  of  the 
garden,  acted  as  a  stimulant  to  her  senses.  Impul 
sively  she  sprang  up  and  went  about  a  hasty  toilet. 
Walking  had  ever  been  her  favorite  form  of  outdoor 
exercise,  and  was,  in  fact,  the  only  one  feasible  at 
present.  Thinking  pleasurably  of  the  walled  garden 
where  in  the  past  she  had  roamed  at  will,  secure  from 
intrusion,  she  suddenly  remembered  the  American 
who  was  to  have  come  in  the  night.  With  a  revul 
sion  of  feeling,  she  determined  to  go  far  over  the  hills 
beyond  the  river,  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  meet 
ing  him  in  her  private  domain;  but  no,  the  barracks 
were  up  there,  and  she  might  meet  Hohenfels,  who 
was  always  out  early.  There  was  the  Belvedere  Al- 
lee  though,  lovely  at  all  times,  but  never  more 
so  than  at  early  morning,  with  the  birds  singing  in 
the  patriarchal  trees  overhead,  the  fresh,  sweet  odors 
rising  from  the  flowering  shrubs  in  the  park,  and  the 
sunbeams  stea1ing  through  the  interstices  of  the  foli 
age  and  dancing  across  the  white,  still  promenade. 

She  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  house,  through  the 
court  to  the  garden.  In  a  distant  corner  she  espied 

Gretchen,  who,  watering-pot  in  hand,  was  closely  fol- 

6? 


6  8  ' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

lowed  by  two  little  flaxen-haired,  pale-eyed  sisters 
who  lived  on  the  second  floor  back.  Unsuspected, 
Muriel  approached  the  trio. 

"Mariechen,"  she  called ;  "Mariechen,  have  you  for 
gotten  me?" 

The  younger  of  the  two  children,  a  baby  of  three, 
turned  so  quickly  at  hearing  her  name  that  she  sat 
down  in  the  gravel  path.  Elsa,  the  elder  by  six  years, 
tugged  vigorously  and  vainly  at  her  hand  to  help  her 
to  her  feet.  "Get  up!"  she  cried;  but  Mariechen  only 
became  the  more  abject,  sinking  her  head  lower  and 
running  her  thumb  further  into  her  mouth. 

"Mariechen!"  remonstrated  Gretchen,  "shame! 
shame!  The  black  man  will  get  you  if  you  act  so. 
This  is  the  kind  Fraulein  who  has  given  you-  so  many 
pretty  things.  Where  did  you  get  'Schneeweiss  and 
Roschen'?  Ah,  ha!  And  the  big  picture  book?" 

Muriel  had  gathered  up  the  little  maid  and  im 
printed  a  kiss  on  the  single  clean  spot  on  her  tear- 
besmeared  face,  a  mark  of  attention  which  made  her 
kick  and  sniffle  plaintively. 

"Look!  There  comes  the  black  man!"  cried 
Gretchen. 

Mariechen  broke  into  a  terrified  howl,  and 
squirmed  so  vigorously  that  Muriel,  fearful  of  drop 
ping  her,  had  to  put  her  down.  The  child  clutched 
convulsively  at  Elsa's  short  frock  and  buried  her  head 
in  its  skimp  folds,  her  chubby  body  trembling  from 
tip  to  toe  with  nervous  fright.  Muriel  delivered  to 
the  servant  a  mild  lecture  on  the  evils  of  false  repre 
sentation;  and,  after  a  second  ineffectual  attempt  to 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  69 

win  Mariechen's  confidence,  left  the  garden  by  the 
rear  exit. 

More  than  an  hour  had  elapsed  when  she  returned 
to  find  the  breakfast-table  spread  under  the  protecting 
boughs  of  two  bushy  plum-trees  just  outside  the 
music-room  door;  and,  facing  each  other  across  the 
spotless  cloth,  her  hostess  and  the  gray-clad  figure 
of  a  broad-shouldered  man.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  turn  back,  go  round  the  block,  and  come  in  by  the 
front  entrance.  It  would  give  her  a  chance  to  take 
a  reassuring  look  in  the  mirror  before  meeting  her 
countryman. 

But  it  was  too  late  to  retreat.  Frau  von  Berwitz 
had  seen  her;  and  nodded  a  greeting  from  the  dis 
tance.  What  difference  did  it  make,  after  all,  she 
reflected,  coming  up  the  path.  He  was  nothing  to 
her  and  never  would  be.  In  fact,  she  wished  him  well 
out  of  the  way  for  a  fortnight  at  least.  Was  it,  though, 
right  of  her  to  cherish  resentment  when  it  made  dear, 
good  Frau  von  Berwitz  so  blissful  to  have  her  foster- 
son  there?  Putting  aside  personal  considerations  for 
the  moment,  she  gave  herself  a  mental  shake  and 
stopped  at  the  table. 

"Muriel,  this  is  Mr.  Stanford.    Miss  Holme,  Carl." 

The  young  man  quickly  proved  his  six  feet  of  stat 
ure,  and  Muriel,  acknowledging  the  introduction,  be 
came  aware  of  a  blonde  head  and  moustache,  and  two 
large  gray  eyes  nearing  the  line  of  her  vision.  With 
no  further  notice  of  him,  she  sat  down  beside  Frau 
von  Berwitz  and  began  to  remove  her  gloves. 

The  abrupt  silence,  following  the  animated  conver- 


70  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

sation  which  her  advent  had  checked,  gave  her  an 
uncomfortable  sensation.  Instinctively  she  turned  to 
her  hostess,  who  was  regarding  her  bright  color  and 
quicker  glance  with  a  quiet  smile  of  approval,  un 
mindful  of  the  embarrassing  pause. 

At  Muriel's  look  Frau  von  Berwitz  said  kindly:  "We 
were  just  speaking  of  you,  my  dear,  as  you  came  up." 

"I  don't  wonder,  when1  I  was  delaying  breakfast  so 
long." 

"Not  for  that  reason,  Miss  Holme,"  said  Stanford, 
speaking  for  the  first  time ;  "Tante  Anna  was  relating 
some  very  pleasant  things  of  you  which — 

— Have  prepared  you  to  hate  me,  of  course," 
she  quickly,  though  pleasantly,  interposed,  giving 
him  a  bright  look.  "So  much  the  better,"  she  ob 
served  mentally,  with  a  return  of  the  old  antagonism ; 
"now  he  will  leave  the  garden  to  me." 

Something  in  the  quality  of  his  voice  had  given 
her  a  peculiar  thrill.  She  only  remarked  its  clear, 
ringing  tones  and  admirable  modulation,  thinking  he 
ought  to  sing  well.  So  he  did!  Frau  von  Berwitz 
had  once  said  so.  She  would  bear  it  in  mind.  All 
this  flashed  through  her  brain  as  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his  face. 

"No,"  he  replied,  in  firm,  sonorous  accents,  a  pure 

enunciation  giving  special  significance  to  each  word, 

"my  mental  digestion  was  too  slow;  your  arrival  is — 

>pportune!"    An  affable  smile  parted  his  lips,  barely 

revealing  two  rows  of  perfect  teeth. 

"His  features  are  all  perfect,"  she  thought,  regard 
ing  him  with  wonder.  He  is  equal  to  any  master- 


"MISS  .  TRAUMERE1"  71 

piece  of  the  sculptor's  art.  What  a  pity  he  is  so  hand 
some.  I  am  always  suspicious  of  handsome  men. 
Fortunately  his  eyes  and  mouth  protect  him  from  any 
imputation  of  weakness.  Probably  there  is  some 
wickedness,  though,  lurking  under  the  surface  some 
where.  Probably,  too,  he  has  plenty  of  conceit.  But 
supposing  he  has ;  any  self-respecting  man  must  place 
a  value  on  himself;  even  if  it  is  too  high,  it  must  im 
prove  him." 

But  Muriel's  spoken  thought  was  only:  "Ah,  that 
restores  my  appetite." 

"Then  you  have  found  one  at  last?"  questioned 
Frau  von  Berwitz,  taking  her  at  her  word  and  turn 
ing  to  Stanford.  "Miss  Holme  has  subsisted  on  music 
since  her  arrival.  A  good  thing  in  its  way;  but  not 
conducive  to  physical  growth.  Now,  Muriel,  I  hope 
you  purpose  being  reasonable  by  repeating  that  walk 
daily." 

"I  do,"  she  said,  reflecting  in  secret  amusement  on 
the  cause  of  the  pilgrimage,  "since  it  resulted  so 
agreeably." 

"Where  did  you  go?" 

"Toward  Belvedere!  I  met  the  Master  coming  from 
early  mass  as  I  turned  into  the  Alice  by  his  house. 
'I  will  not  detain  you,'  he  said  to  Ilmstedt,  who  was 
with  him.  We  were  just  at  the  gate.  Poor  Ilmstedt! 
'It  is  such  a  pity  the  Master  dislikes  him!  Off  he 
went,  looking  miserably  dejected,  trying  to  smile  an 
'adieu'  as  he  saw  us  start  up  the  promenade.  Pauline 
says  he  is  at  the  house  by  half-past  five,  every  morn 
ing,  to  escort  Liszt  to  six  o'clock  mass.  His  devo- 


72  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

tion  is  touching.  The  Master  is  too  kindly  to  resent 
it;  but  as  Ilmstedt  disappeared  he  said,  'A  good  fel 
low;  but —  "  Muriel  shrugged  her  shoulders,  spread 
her  palms,  and  put  out  her  under  lip  in  imitation  of 
the  Master. 

"Meister  went  only  a  few  steps  further,  saying  he 
had  to  work  before  breakfast — he  rises  by  four,  at 
latest,"  she  explained  to  Stanford— '"'so  I  returned 
with  him  to  the  house  door  and  then  went  my  way." 

"Had  he  anything  special  to  say?"  queried  Frau 
von  Berwitz. 

"Yes.  Xaver  Scharwenka  is  coming  to-morrow  for 
a  short  visit" 

"Ah?    We  must  invite  him  here." 

"Of  course,"  assented  Muriel ;  "I  told  the  Master  so. 
He  dines  there  at  half-past  one.  I  will  send  him  a 
note  asking  him  to  tea." 

"Miss  Holme  has  studied  with  him  in  Berlin  for 
five  years,"  said  Frau  von  Berwitz,  addressing  Stan 
ford. 

"Yes;  as  I  went  to  take  leave  of  the  Master  after 
my  first  summer  here,  I  requested  him  to  recommend 
a  Berlin  teacher  for  the  ensuing  winter;  and  he  named 
Xaver  Scharwenka.  I  had  been  with  him  three  years 
already,  though  he  did  not  know  it,  for  he  never  asks 
with  whom  we  have  studied,  possibly  fearing  it  may 
have  been  in  a  conservatory,"  she  subjoined  with  a 
smile.  "He  hates  them.  Here,  Gretchen,"  said  Mu 
riel  to  the  maid,  who  was  approaching  the  hostess 
with  a  heavily  laden  tray;  "let  me  serve  the  coffee. 
I  am  not  quite  ready  for  breakfast." 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  73 

Whilst  Gretchen  transferred  her  burden  to  the 
table,  Stanford  joined  in  the  conversation. 

"Is  it  not  delightful,  Miss  Holme,  this  German  cus 
tom  of  breakfasting  in  the  open  air?" 

"Dear  children,"  interposed  Frau  von  Berwitz,  with 
an  impulsive  gesture,  "do  speak  your  mother  tongue! 
Don't  let  my  presence  deter  you.  I  understand  it 
quite  well." 

"Always  unselfish,  little  aunt!"  said  Stanford,  with 
a  look  of  filial  affection.  The  good  woman  raised 
her  hands  in  mute  protest;  but  he  continued,  "I  like 
to  speak  German."  His  eyes  appealed  to  Muriel  for 
a  similar  avowal.  She  was  filling  a  cup  from  a  rare 
old  Dresden  china  coffee-pot,  and  did  not  look  up. 
"The  happiest  recollections  of  my  life  are  in  that  lan 
guage." 

She  suddenly  caught  his  glance,  which  had  strayed 
to  Frau  von  Berwitz.  "One  is  said  to  like  best  the 
language  in  which  one  has  learned  to  speak  love," 
she  observed  sweetly. 

The  other  two  laughed  abruptly,  and  Stanford's 
face  flushed  slightly. 

"Then  I  confess  a  preference  for  German,"  he  ad 
mitted  candidly.  "I  never  knew  the  meaning  of  love 
before  coming  to  Weimar.  Father  was  always  at  sea ; 
and  my  mother,  who  rarely  saw  us,  was  a  nervous 
invalid  until  her  death.  We  were  left  to  an  old  col 
ored  nurse's  care.  Tante  Anna  is  the  only  mother 
I  ever  knew.  My  heart  was  developed  here  in  this 
house  and  garden.  Nicht  wahr,  Tante  Anna?" 

"One    or    two?"    inquired    Grace,    in    an    aside, 


74  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

holding  a  block  of  sugar  in  the  tiny  silver  sugar 
tongs. 

"One,  please,"  he  answered,  appreciatively  recog 
nizing  another  interpretation  of  her  question. 

Frau  Von  Berwitz's  brown  eyes  were  luminous 
with  feeling  as  she  said  gently:  "You  were  always 
like  a  son,  Carl.  I  never  knew  any  difference." 

The  adroit  construction  which  Stanford  had  given 
Muriel's  statement  touched  her  readily  responsive 
nature.  As  she  looked  from  one  to  the  other  she 
realized  for  the  first  time  the  close  bond  of  feeling 
uniting  the  two — for  Frau  von  Berwitz  was  a  woman 
of  sense,  who  never  paraded  her  heart's  interests.  All 
irritation  at  his  coming  suddenly  disappeared  under 
new  compunctions  of  conscience.  She  saw  herself, 
and  not  Stanford,  the  interloper.  He  had  a  prior  and 
stronger  claim  on  the  place ;  and  far  be  it  from  her  to 
encroach. 

With  a  determination  to  atone  in  manner  for  any 
wrong  she  may  have  done  him  at  heart,  Muriel  was 
now  all  unselfish  attention.  The  conversation  drifted 
aimlessly  for  a  time.  Stanford  declared  the  bread 
of  Saxony,  and  of  Weimar  in  particular,  the  best 
under  the  sun;  and  the  wild  strawberries,  to  which 
Muriel  presently  helped  him,  superior  in  flavor  to  all 
others.  Frau  von  Berwitz  laughingly  attributed  all 
this  to  his  partiality  for  the  old  home;  but  Muriel 
stoutly  supported  his  assertions,  to  the  no  small  de 
light  of  the  hostess. 

A  glimpse  of  Mariechen's  tow-head  appearing  at 
the  entrance  for  a  stolen  peep,  induced  a  chance  ref- 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  75 

erence  to  the  early  training  of  the  young.  From 
this  the  conversation  branched  into  the  common 
school  system  and  the  duties  of  citizenship,  and  they 
soon  found  themselves  deep  in  a  discussion  of  Ameri 
can  politics.  Muriel  surprised  Stanford  by  her  famil 
iarity  with  affairs  at  home,  after  so  long  a  residence 
abroad,  and  by  her  intelligent  understanding  of  them. 
He  responded  with  quick  interest,  and  her  eyes 
gleamed  with  enthusiasm  as  he  gave  expression  to 
tastes  and  modes  of  thought  similar  to  her  own.  It 
was  an  experience  so  rare  that  her  whole  being 
thrilled  with  the  novelty  of  the  emotion,  and  her  calm, 
self-contained  expression  changed  to  one  of  spon 
taneous  sympathy. 

Frau  von  Berwitz,  a  silent  spectator,  had  always 
recognized  something  beyond  mere  beauty  in  Mu 
riel's  face ;  she  had  seen  it  in  all  its  changes ;  but  now, 
for  the  first  time,  she  was  forced  to  acknowledge  it 
enthrallingly  handsome.  Satisfied  as  to  their  con 
geniality,  she  smiled  vaguely  on  the  young  people, 
without  heeding  a  word  spoken,  mentally  absorbed 
in  the  details  of  her  housekeeping. 

Stanford  logically  reverted  to  the  foundation  of 
things  in  each  argument;  following  it  systematically 
and  comprehensively  to  the  end;  invariably  gaining 
his  point  by  a  statement  of  undeniable  facts. 

Acknowledging,  at  length,  his  superior  grasp  of 
the  subjects  discussed,  Muriel  was  content  to  listen 
and  learn.  She  observed  the  delicacy  with  which  he 
reverted  to  her  incomplete  arguments,  presenting 
them  anew  with  a  lucidity  and  force  which  drew  from. 


76  "MISS     TRAUMEREI' 

her  the  oft-repeated  comment:  "He  puts  into  words 
that  which  I  feel,  and  cannot  express."  Clearly  he 
was  a  man  given  to  serious  thought ;  one  to  work  out 
the  involved  problems  of  life  for  himself. 

A  sense  of  her  own  crude  mentality  suddenly  shad 
owed  her  happy  unconsciousness  of  self.  "Was  he 
the  kind  of  man  to  think  this  crudeness  of  hers  due 
to  any  limitation  of  sex?"  This  thought  was  sufficient 
to  set  in  motion  the  troubled  undercurrent  of  her 
easily  excited  imagination,  colliding  at  every  turn 
with  his. 

Noticing  her  expression,  Stanford  abruptly  termi 
nated  his  discourse. 

"But  I  weary  you  with  all  this  talk,  Miss  Holme." 

"Weary  me?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  puzzled  surprise 
that  she  should  have  betrayed  her  wandering  thoughts 
by  changing  countenance.  "No;  but  an  oppressive 
sense  of  my  own  ignorance  does!" 

She  had  unconsciously  spoken  with  a  noticeable 
shade  of  bitterness,  and  the  next  instant  was  all  re 
pentance  to  see  him  flash  a  look  of  understanding 
and  half  reproach. 

Before  he  could  reply,  she  hurried  on,  an  apology 
in  her  tone :  "Music  takes  all  my  time.  It  leaves  me 
no  strength  for  other  serious  study;  and  what  little 
knowledge  I  gather,  here  and  there,  only  helps  me 
to  realize  my  deplorable  superficiality." 

She  was  now  thoroughly  uncomfortable  at  the  tone 
she  had  given  their  conversation.  To  her  it  seemed 
childish,  as  it  must  to  him.  She  was  dimly  conscious 
that  it  was  due  to  her  overwrought  nerves.  Any  won 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  77 

man  might  have  spoken  as  she  did.  But  by  nature 
she  was  too  candid  to  seek  for  a  covert  thrust  in  a 
courteous  exchange  of  opinion. 

Muriel  was  eminently  combative.  She  was  like 
adamant  to  the  least  unjust  resistance;  but  she  de 
clined  to  conquer  by  strategy.  Positive  evidence  of 
right  was  her  only  weapon  of  warfare.  If  she  fancied 
her  sex  depreciated  by  Stanford,  she  was  certain  to  set 
to  work  to  undermine  the  supports  of  his  belief,  until 
convinced  of  her  victory  or  her  error.  She  needed  no 
greater  incentive  to  show  her  strength.  Intuition, 
rather  than  reason,  seemed  to  guide  her  at  such  times. 
At  present,  her  first  impulse  was  toward  conciliation. 
Therefore,  she  was  gratified  to  have  Stanford  meet  her 
half  way  in  his  reply. 

"But  you  know  one  thing — music — eminently  well ! 
That  gives  you  a  pedestal  above  the  many.  That  as 
sured " 

"A  momentary  assurance!"  interposed  Muriel,  with 
a  mollified  laugh.  "It  is  like  the  ballet-dancer  stand 
ing  on  one  toe.  Let  her  neglect  daily  practice  in  the 
art,  and  she  falls  on  her  head.  Ah,  well,"  she  con 
tinued,  not  caring  to  confide  in  him  at  their  initial 
meeting,  her  plans  for  the  future,  "some  people  can 
subsist  on  hope.  I  shall  try  to  gain  some  of  their 
comfort." 

"If  it  isn't  Sophie  von  Hohenfels!"  exclaimed  Frau 
von  Berwitz  in  amazement,  breaking  abruptly  into 
their  conversation;  and  rising  to  her  feet  she  started 
down  the  path  to  meet  Fraulein  Panzer  with  a  tall 
slender,  elderly  woman,  in  widow's  weeds. 


7  8  • '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

This  interruption  prevented  any  further  discussion ; 
and  Muriel  was  well  pleased,  for  she  felt  that  their 
congenial  footing  was  well  established,  though  she 
was  still  smarting  under  the  humiliating  opinion  of 
her  sex  which  an  indefinable  something  in  Stanford's 
voice  or  manner  led  her  to  suspect  him  of  holding. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Muriel  took  a  stealthy  peep  at  her  watch,  and  saw 
to  her  surprise  that  it  was  half-past  nine  o'clock.  One 
hour  late  for  practicing!  No  matter.  She  had  learned 
something  by  staying;  most  of  all,  that  women 
were  of  inferior  mental  calibre  to  men,  she  reflected 
with  grim  humor.  She  didn't  believe  it;  but,  were  it 
so,  it  was  not  pleasant  to  be  told  it. 

She  looked  up.  It  was  not  possible  to  meet  Stan 
ford's  honest,  kindly  eyes  and  harbor  such  thoughts. 
A  delicious  warmth  suffused  her  entire  being.  How 
delightful  the  garden  seemed  this  morning.  Were 
the  roses  ever  more  beautiful  or  their  perfume  more 
intoxicating.  See  how  the  sheltering  foliage  traces 
delicate,  flitting  shadows  over  the  immaculate  cloth. 
One  could  almost  taste  the  soft  sunlit  air,  such  a  day 
as  this. 

Muriel  had  completely  forgotten  the  danger  which 
threatened  her  enjoyment  of  the  place  at  rising-time. 
She  leaned  back  heavily  against  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  and  gave  way  to  unalloyed  contentment,  as  if 
to  make  the  most  of  the  minute  or  two  left  before  the 
advancing  trio  joined  them.  Then  she  must  excuse 
herself  and  go  to  work. 

"Oh,  vexation!  That  must  be  the  Count's  mother. 
It  will  never  do  to  go  running  off  the  minute  she  ar 
rives.  My  practicing,  my  practicing!  I  wonder 

how  soon  I  can  excuse  myself?     That  is  like  unto 

79 


8o  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

the  reception  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  A  cheerful  greet 
ing  for  a  newly-made  widow.  I  suppose  Frau  von 
Berwitz  is  congratulating  her,  if,  as  reported,  she  was 
being  tyrannized  to  death  by  the  old  Count.  Why,  that 
is  the  way  they  used  to  call  the  cows  at  Pembroke 
Farm!"  Muriel  smiled  faintly  at  the  remembrance. 

These  last  reflections  were  induced  by  the  gyra 
tions  and  vociferations  of  the  hostess,  who  had  flung 
her  arms  about  the  Countess  with  a  laugh  of  wel 
come,  and  thereupon  began  hallooing  in  her  right 
ear.  Fraulein  Panzer  was  dancing  about  them  in  a 
nervous,  delighted  way,  excitedly  shouting  detached 
phrases  in  a  high-pitched  voice,  so  that  neither  of 
the  women  could  be  understood  by  Muriel  and  Stan 
ford. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  toss  up  my  hat  and  cheer 
lustily  to  make  the  reception  complete,"  observed  the 
latter,  looking  over  his  shoulder  in  humorous  appre 
ciation  of  the  scene. 

Fraulein  Panzer,  catching  his  eye,  suddenly  ceased 
her  lively  movements. 

"Mr.  Stanford!"  she  shrieked  in  the  same  high 
voice.  "Herr  Je!  I  had  entirely  forgotten  that  you 
were  to  be  here  in  the  excitement  of  the  Countess' 
coming:"  but  she  darted  forward  to  meet  him  with  a 
manner  which  amply  atoned  for  the  candid  indif 
ference  of  her  words. 

"It  is  worth  the  trouble  of  a  journey  just  to  have 
a  German  welcome  one  home,"  Muriel  was  thinking, 
as  she  watched  the  genuine  heartiness  of  the  re 
ception  so  distinctively  national;  and  she  forthwith 


« 'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  8 1 

marked  one  more  to  the  score  of  her  affectionate  re 
gard  for  the  people  whose  hospitable  country  had  so 
long  been  her  shelter. 

Fraulein  Panzer  suddenly  lowered  her  voice  with 
a  little  laugh  as  Muriel  rose  to  greet  her.  "It  proves 
the  slavery  of  habit,"  she  apologized;  "my  friend  is 
painfully  deaf,  and  we  have  been  conversing  for  two 
hours.  I  had  to  invent  some  excuse  to  get  my 
maid  out  of  the  house,  as  I  didn't  care  to  take  her 
into  our  confidence."  And  the  little  woman  won 
dered  what  Muriel  would  have  said,  had  she  known 
the  theme  of  their  discussion. 

The  latter  innocently  remarked  upon  the  unan 
nounced  arrival  of  the  Countess. 

"It  was  a  surprise  planned  for  Fritz  and  Frau  von 
Berwitz,  my  dear.  The  boy  will  know  nothing  of 
it  until  he  comes  to  me  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"My  American  children!"  hallooed  the  hostess, 
coming  opposite  with  a  flourish  of  her  unoccupied 
arm.  Miss  Holme— Mr.  Stanford." 

As  Fraulein  Panzer's  nervous  laugh  increased  the 
confusion  of  tones,  Muriel  lost  the  Countess'  low- 
spoken  words;  their  significance,  however,  was  in 
terpreted  by  the  warm  hand-pressure  and  the  cordial, 
smile  illuminating  her  refined  features — so  like  her 
son's,  Muriel  thought — as  both  lingered  a  moment, 
standing.  Muriel  felt  herself  in  sympathy  with  the 
Countess  and  wished  to  see  her  eyes,  concealed  by 
a  pair  of  smoked  spectacles.  Her  voice,  too,  was 
agreeable,  when  given  a  chance  to  be  heard  in  the 
general  conversation  which  followed. 


8  2  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

"But  you  will  join  our  party  at  Tiefurt  this  after 
noon,  will  you  not?"  inquired  Fraulein  Panzer  in  a 
high  key.  "Of  course,  you'll  go,  Anna;  and  you," 
she  added,  with  a.  smile  at  Stanford.  "Fritz  will, 
doubtless,  come,  tco,  later." 

"I  fear  it—" 

"Nonsense,  Muriel!"  exclaimed  Frau  von  Berwitz, 
interrupting  her,  "if  you  don't  amuse  yourself  more  I 
myself  will  go  to  Meister  Liszt  and  tell  him  how  you 
work  at  the  expense  of  your  health!" 

"Very  well,  then,"  rejoined  Muriel,  with  a  yielding 
smile,  "but  I  can't  leave  here  until  after  four.  I  will 
walk  out,  Tante  Anna,  so  make  your  plans  accord 
ingly  ;  I  prefer  the  exercise." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Stanford,  hastily;  "you  will  permit 
me  to  accompany  you,  will  you  not,  Miss  Holme?" 

"How  stupid  of  me,"  thought  Muriel.  "Now  he 
will  think  I  did  that  purposely."  She  darted  a  ner 
vous  glance  at  the  three  ladies  as  she  said:  "Don't 
think  of  it!  I  am  accustomed  to  go  everywhere 
alone  about  here.  Thank  you,  but 

"Certainly,  it  is  just  the  thing "  ejaculated  Frau 
lein  Panzer.  "And  we  old  ladies  will  drive  out."  The 
next  instant  she  would  have  been  glad  to  frustrate 
that  very  plan,  as  Fritz  came  into  her  mind;  but  it 
was  too  late.  Frau  von  Berwitz  was  saying,  "Quite 
right,  we  will  arrange  the  details  at  dinner." 

"Muriel  looked  helplessly  at  Stanford  and  felt  her 
self  flush  slightly  as  she  said  "Aufwiedersehen"  to 
the  company,  and  turned  towards  the  mansion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Boom — boom!"  pealed  out  the  first  octaves  of 
Liszt's  E  flat  major  concerto,  which,  as  a  special  dis 
pensation,  the  composer  had  consented  to  hear  the 
following  day,  saying,  as  he  did  so,  "Its  strains  have 
long  been  silent  at  the  Royal  Gardens";  and,  though 
Muriel  had  been  careful  to  close  the  doors  of  her 
music-room,  the  roar  of  the  ensuing  crescendo  pas 
sage  made  conversation  with  the  Countess  imprac 
ticable.  Having,  like  the  majority  of  pianists,  an 
antipathy  to  being  overheard  at  practice,  Muriel  was 
gratified  to  have  Frau  von  Berwitz  push  open  the 
double  doors  and  say,  "We  are  going  to  the  front," 
as  she  led  her  guests  away. 

After  two  hours  of  concentration  upon  her  work 
Muriel  stood  hatless  in  the  bright,  warm  sunshine 
without,  too  absorbed  still  to  divert  her  train  of 
thought.  Though  wearied  by  countless  repetitions 
of  the  many  difficult  passages  of  the  concerto,  she 
nevertheless  rubbed  and  stretched  her  moist  hands 
with  an  exquisite  sense  of  joy  in  the  feeling  of  mastery 
assured  by  their  firm,  supple  grasp.  The  chime 
in  the  castle  tower  abruptly  silenced  the  faint  in 
definable  murmur  rising  from  the  little  city.  Muriel 
glanced  at  the  painted  table  under  the  plum-trees. 
It  was  flooded  with  sunshine,  and  a  last  fragment  of 
shadow  cooled  the  broad  threshhold  of  her  music- 
room  door.  With  a  quickened  gleam  of  the  eye,  as 

83 


8  4  ' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

she  thought  of  the  breakfast  party,  she  moved  toward 
the  central  walk. 

When  she  resumed  practicing  a  half-hour  later, 
Muriel  was  not  conscious  of  having  devoted  the  en 
tire  interval  to  thought  of  Stanford,  nor  that  the  com 
bative  spirit  aroused  in  her  and  stimulating  her 
weary  muscles,  was  a  mere  desire  to  gain  his  homage. 

Gretchen  came  at  half-past  one  to  announce  din 
ner. 

As  Muriel  crossed  the  inner  court,  she  experienced 
a  strange  commingling  of  emotions,  now  that  she  was 
again  to  meet  Stanford.  The  magnetism  of  his  pres 
ence  attracted  her;  his  possible  undervaluation  of  the 
female  intellect  made  her  dread  to  face  him  again, 
and  the  fact  that  she  must  conceal  her  own  thoughts 
in  bright  conversation  fell  like  a  new  burden  on  her 
weary  shoulders.  Her  spirit  shed  tears  of  vexation. 
Whilst  ascending  the  rambling  stainvay  she  acknowl 
edged  to  herself,  for  the  first  time,  that  overwork  had 
unnerved  her.  In  a  state  of  agitated  uncertainty, 
ready  to  respond  with  either  a  genial  smile  or  an 
easy  indifference  to  Stanford's  greeting,  she  entered 
the  drawing-room. 

He  was  alone,  reading  by  an  open  window ;  but  he 
immediately  dropped  his  paper  and  rose  to  receive 
her,  saying,  "Your  industry,  Miss  Holme,  deserves 
the  reward  of  a  good  appetite." 

Something  in  his  voice  or  his  presence  seemed  to 
give  her  strength.  Self  was  forgotten  in  the  frank 
return  of  his  genial  look.  "Thank  you,"  she  re 
sponded,  with  equal  affability,  "I  think  it  must  be 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  85 

the  atmosphere  of  that  charming  garden.  I  can  truly 
say,  I  always  welcome  Gretchen's  summons  to  dinner." 

"You  are  fortunate  in  having  that  ideal  retreat 
for  your  work." 

"Doubly  so!"  said  Muriel.  "You  know  the  stat 
ute  which  regulates  practicing?" 

"I  do  not  recall  it." 

"The  city  authorities  have  prohibited,  under  pen 
alty  of  the  law,  the  playing  of  any  musical  instrument 
in  a  room  with  doors  or  windows  open  on  the  street." 

"Which  makes  music  a  hot-house  growth  in  Wei 
mar,"  suggested  Stanford,  offering  Muriel  a  chair 
and  resuming  his  former  seat. 

"Practically!"  was  the  animated  response,  "for  it  is 
the  summer  time  which  draws  so  many  pianists  here. 
With  the  addition  of  players  of  every  sort  from  the 
Orchestral  School,  every  block  in  town  would  other 
wise  be  rendered  uninhabitable.  It  is  hard,  though, 
for  the  poor  workers,  who  have  to  swelter  through 
the  midsummer  heat.  Only  one  restriction  is  placed 
on  me  in  my  garden  salon.  Owing  to  the  proximity 
of  the  church,  no  music  is  permitted  in  our  neighbor 
hood  during  the  hours  of  service,  Sunday  morning, 
from  half-past  nine  to  eleven  o'clock.  I  knew  nothing 
of  this  until  one  Sunday  morning  last  summer,  when 
a  loud  clapping  of  hands  interrupted  my  practice,  and 
through  the  back  window  of  an  adjacent  house  sten 
torian  lungs  proclaimed  the  law  covering  my  offense." 

"What!  speaking  German  together?"  Frau  von 
Berwitz  stood  in  the  dining-room  arch,  fastening  the 
portieres  in  place  as  she  spoke. 


86  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  replied  Muriel  simply ;  and 
she  remembered  having  said  to  Stanford  at  breakfast : 
"One  prefers  the  language  in  which  one  has  learned 
to  speak  love.  How  silly!"  she  thought,  with  annoy 
ance  at  the  suggestion. 

"Dinner,  my  children.  Come!"  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz  smiled  at  Muriel  without  speaking,  as  Stanford 
leaned  over  the  table  to  put  aside  an  exquisite  centre 
piece  of  freshly-cut  roses,  and  trace,  with  his  finger, 
the  outlines  of  a  faded  figure,  which  had  been  woven 
into  the  immaculate  linen. 

"The  Fall  of  Babylon,"  said  he  finally/  looking  up 
with  a  smile  of  interest  at  Muriel.  "My  first  and  most 
lasting  lessons  in  Biblical  history  were  gained  from 
Tante  Anna's  various  tablecloths.  They  would  make 
a  regular  picture  gallery  if  put  on  exhibition.  Tante 
Anna  explained  each  to  me  as  it  chanced  to  ap 
pear." 

"A  biennial  event!"  interposed  Frau  von  Berwitz. 
"To  see  my  storerooms,  one  would  think  me  de 
scended  from  generations  of  weavers.  I  was  left  lit 
tle  else  than  products  of  the  loom!  Regardless  of 
how  it  has  been  accumulating  in  the  family,  each 
bride  brought  with  her  bed  and  table-linen  enough 
for  her  lifetime.  Consequently  my  largest  posses 
sion  to-day  is  so  much  dead  capital." 

"And  here  is  the  date  of  its  foundation,"  said  Stan 
ford,  who  had  taken  his  place  with  the  others  at  the 
table  and  was  deciphering  the  dim  figure  "1710," 
which  had  originally  been  hand-embroidered  in  blue 
silk  above  a  heraldic  device  in  the  corner  of  his 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  87 

napkin.  "That  is  the  oldest.  Then  comes  the  next 
generation,  'seventeen  hundred  twenty-eight' " 

"Seventeen  forty-eight,"  continued  Muriel,  begin 
ning  to  name  them  off  on  her  ringers,  "seventeen 
sixty-sev " 

"Quite  right!"  laughed  Stanford,  "I  see  you  know 
them,  too." 

"And  the  pictures  also,"  responded  she.  "We  had 
'Abraham  offering  up  Jacob'  at  breakfast." 

"Isaac,  my  dear!"  exclaimed  Frau  von  Berwitz, 
"not  Jacob." 

Muriel  subsided  with  a  merry  laugh. 

"Ah!  That  one  I  shall  never  forget,"  began  Stan 
ford,  jocosely,  "though  I  didn't  notice  it  this  morn 
ing.  One  of  my  earliest  recollections  is  letting  an 
overripe  strawberry  fall  on  Isaac.  As  table  deport 
ment  was  a  feature  of  Tante  Anna's  discipline,  I  gath 
ered  it  up,  mashing  it  the  more,  of  course,  and  then 
pushed  my  saucer  over  the  stain.  'So  Abraham  did 
actually  sacrifice  his  son,  Carl?'  inquired  Tante  Anna, 
promptly  uncovering  the  spot  with  a  significant  look 
at  me.  I  never  forgave  Isaac  the  harm  I  had  done 
him!" 

"I  hope  time  has  exonerated  me,  my  son,"  laughed 
Frau  von  Berwitz. 

"Judge  of  that  yourself,  Tante,"  said  Stanford,  lift 
ing  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

In  this  genial  atmosphere  Muriel  became  light- 
hearted,  and  felt  increasing  satisfaction  with  her  young 
countryman.  Their  acquaintance  had  progressed 
considerably,  when  Frau  von  Berwitz  pushed  back 


88  "MISS     TRAUMEREI " 

her  chair  after  dessert,  and  said:  "Now,  Carl,  we 
will  leave  you  to  your  cigar;  or,  if  Muriel  does  not 
object  to  the  smoke,  you  may  come  into  the  drawing- 
room." 

"Not  in  the  least!"  interposed  Muriel,  hastily,  "I 
rather  enjoy  the  fumes  of  a  good  cigar." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  ladies,  but  I  have  not 
smoked  for  a  year,  and  shall  not  begin  again  to-day." 

"How  so?"  said  Frau  von  Berwitz  in  surprise. 

"I  am  trying  an  experiment,"  replied  Stanford, 
following  them  into  the  next  room.  "I  hope  to  at 
tain  my  greatest  working  capacity,  and,  therefore, 
deny  myself  everything  which  might  prove  a  hin 
drance.  I  have  not  touched  wine  or  liquor  of  any 
sort  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  take  coffee  for  break 
fast  only.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  to  change  my  rule 
somewhat  while  in  Europe,  but  only  when  courtesy 
demands  it." 

As  he  did  not  dwell  on  the  subject  Muriel  believed 
him,  and  she  unconsciously  dropped  out  of  the  con 
versation  in  thinking  how  few  men  had  the  courage 
and  strength  to  live  up  to  their  better  convictions. 
It  was  some  little  time  before  Muriel  recovered  her 
self  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  start,  to  rise  abruptly 
and  say  she  must  practice.  She  was  going,  without 
a  reference  to  the  projected  excursion,  when  Stan 
ford  asked  where  they  should  meet  to  walk  out  and 
join  the  others. 

"In  this  room,"  she  said,  "at  four:"  and  she  passed 
out  thinking  ruefully  of  the  short  time  left  for  her 
work. 


CHAPTER   X. 

The  extensive  and  beautiful  royal  park  of  Tiefurt, 
once  the  favorite  residence  of  the  Duchess  Amalia, 
and  now,  through  the  grace  of  her  grandson — the  ven 
erable  Grand  Duke  Carl  Alexander — free  of  access  to 
the  public,  lies  distant  from  Weimar  about  a  mile  and 
a  half  down  the  valley  of  the  Ilm.  It  was  here,  on  the 
greensward  and  in  the  shadow  of  grand  old  forest 
trees,  that  the  plays  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  were  first 
enacted,  near  the  end  of  the  last  century,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  assembled  ducal  court. 

The  ancient  building,  called  by  courtesy  the  "Cas 
tle,"  has  degenerated  into  an  abode  for  the  small  res 
taurateur  who  furnishes  simple  refreshment  to  the 
wayfarer,  under  the  spreading  boughs  of  a  group  of 
trees  on  the  other  side  of  the  drive,  and  opposite  the 
worn  stone  entrance. 

As  the  first  arrivals  of  the  afternoon,  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz,  Fraulein  Panzer  and  the  Countess  dismissed 
their  conveyance  and  settled  themselves  at  the  longest 
table  available;  Muriel  and  Stanford  passed  over  the 
new  stone  bridge  which  faces  the  Urn's  falling  waters 
below  the  palace  in  Weimar,  and  ascended  a  slight 
elevation  to  a  fork  in  the  road.  The  main  branch, 
which  turns  and  leads  on  up  the  hill,  is  soon  merged 
in  the  splendid  Tiefurter  Chaussee  which  skirts,  on  the 
left,  the  "Webicht,"  a  heavily  wooded  pheasant-pre 
serve  occupying  almost  the  entire  plateau.  The  other, 

89 


9o  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

a  narrow  carriageway,  plunges  abruptly  into  a  lesser 
thicket  and  follows  the  river  course  through  the  low 
lands. 

"Which  way?"  asked  Stanford,  halting  to  look 
down  the  shadowy  vista,  and  then  at  the  canopy  of 
fleckless  blue  above. 

"The  lower,"  said  Muriel,  divining  his  preference, 
and  moving  on. 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  the  dampness?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

Her  heart  lightened  by  a  feeling  of  security  in 
his  companionship,  Muriel's  spirits  rose  at  the  vision 
of  the  broadening  grasslands,  dashed  with  the  varie 
gated  tints  of  a  myriad  flowers,  whose  delicate  per 
fume  a  day's  sun  had  drawn  from  moist  petals  into 
the  rain-clarified  air. 

"Isn't  it  delicious!"  she  exclaimed,  fervently,  turn 
ing  her  face  to  the  sun  and  closing  her  eyes  as  a 
boundless  caress  of  all  nature  welled  up  from  a  heart 
full  of  thanksgiving  to  the  great  Unknown.  She  won 
dered  at  her  happiness;  why  had  the  world  never  be 
fore  seemed  so  beautiful'  to  her?  She  had  taken  this 
path  many  a  time.  She  knew  every  depression  and 
turn  in  it;  the  enclosing  hills  were  her  friends. 

"It's  Weimar,"  she  said  aloud,  answering  her  own 
silent  questioning;  "dear  Weimar!" 

Stanford  watched  her  with  a  smile  on  his  handsome 
face  and  began  plucking  the  blue  cornflowers  peep 
ing  out  the  long  grass.  "Kaiser-Blumen,"  the  Ger 
man  likes  to  call  them,  for  they  were  the  favored  of 
the  beloved  old  Emperor  William  I, 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  9 1 

Muriel  pulled  her  hat  further  over  her  face  and 
looked  down. 

"I  sometimes  feel  that  it  must  hurt,"  she  mused, 
watching  him  snap  the  stems. 

"But  it  does  not  withhold  you  from  wearing  them?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  laughingly  added,  taking  the 
proffered  flowers  and  fastening  them  in  her  dress. 
"I  am  cruel  enough  for  that." 

They  passed  beneath  the  lofty,  handsome  railroad 
bridge  of  stone,  and  following  a  short  cut  across  the 
meadows  to  the  right,  came  into  the  hard  white  Tie- 
furter  Chaussee  where  it  descends  between  long  rows 
of  cherry-trees  to  the  valley.  On  a  terrace  above  the 
street,  a  popular  inn  and  embowered  garden,  the  "*Fel- 
senkeller,"  looked  across  the  fields  to  its  vine-en 
shrouded  rival,  'The  Rosenkranz,"  planted  on  the 
perpendicular  further  bank  of  the  Ilm,  where  the 
waters  are  lashed  into  foam  as  they  leap  noisily  over 
the  milldam  in  the  shadow  of  Tiefurt. 

The  Chaussee  bridges  the  stream  where  its  turbu 
lent  flight  has  sobered  down  into  a  dignified  gait;  and, 
just  beyond  lies  the  defunct-looking  hamlet. 

There  is  a  great  stone  wall,  interrupted  by  a  broad 
entrance  with  massive  gates  thrown  back;  but,  in 
stead  of  the  green  turf,  gorgeous  flowers,  and  patri 
archal  trees  of  the  grand  old  park,  an  ancient  farm 
yard  unfolds  its  paved  length. 

As  Muriel  and  Stanford  cautiously  sought  a  footing 
between  the  opposing  lines  of  oddly-fashioned  hay 
racks,  carts,  and  tall  milk-cans  outlying  the  quaint 
low  buildings,  a  pea-hen,  promenading  the  tall  inner 


92  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

wall  alongside  the  second  gateway,  called  attention 
to  her  brilliant  plumage  by  prolonged  and  discordant 
vociferations. 

"Ach,  that  terrible  fowl!"  cried  a  high-pitched  mu 
sical  voice  in  the  distance.  "I  would  rather  hear  a 
fog-horn." 

"Fraulein  Panzer!"  said  Muriel,  with  a  hearty 
laugh;  and  as  they  confronted  the  beauteous  vista 
opening  up  before  them,  the  little  spinster  raised  her 
head  to  shout  again  in  the  ear  of  the  Countess,  who 
sat  between  her  and  Frau  von  Berwitz,  and  espied 
them  coming  down  the  broad  drive. 

"Ah !  Welcome,  my  friends !"  she  cried,  with  a  sin 
cerity  which  her  oversight  in  aiding  the  two  young 
people  to  come  together  italicized.  "Now  I  have 
them  under  my  eye,"  she  reflected.  "Use  diplomacy, 
Clara!"  Resigning  her  seat  by  the  Countess  to  Mu 
riel,  she  took  a  place  next  to  Stanford,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table. 

At  the  sound  of  new  voices  a  ponderous  waiting- 
woman  waddled  forth  across  the  drive  to  take  the 
order. 

"That  is  the  charm  of  life  in  Germany,"  exclaimed 
Fraulein  Panzer,  glancing  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
stolid  visage.  "Coffee  for  five — in  a  hurry — Hanchen, 
dear! — you  can  always  get  refreshment  of  some  sort, 
everywhere.  Last  summer  I  had  such  an  experience 
up  in  Christiania!"  The  little  woman  paused  in  her 
knitting  to  raise  her  hands  and  roll  her  eyes  at  the 
overhanging  boughs.  "I  had  stopped  there  two  or 
three  days  with  my  brother  and  his  wife  on  our  way 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  93 

to  the  North  Cape.  One  morning,  after  breakfast,  a 
gentleman  to  whom  we  had  a  letter  of  introduction 
invited  us  to  accompany  him  up  a  hill  celebrated  for 
its  view.  The  way  was  endless,  and  my  brother  al 
most  a  ton  in  weight,  so  we  stopped  often  to  rest  and 
chat.  About  ten  o'clock  I  began  to  get  hungry,  but 
thinking  we  would  soon  reach  an  inn,  I  said  nothing 
about  it.  After  a  time,  I  grew  actually  faint.  Again 
I  consoled  myself  with  a  vision  of  an  imminent  re 
freshment  stand,  for  the  hill  was  a  popular  resort. 
We  plodded  on  and  up.  When  I  was  ready  to  drop 
with  fatigue,  we  caught  sight  of  a  Greek-looking 
house  on  the  summit  of  the  eminence.  'Almighty 
Father!'  I  gasped,  stopping  short  in  the  path,  'I  thank 
Thee  from  the  depths  of  my — heart  for  that  res 
taurant!'" 

"  'Restaurant?  Where?'  Our  guide  looked  naively 
up  hill  and  down. 

"'There!'  I  whispered,  breathlessly. 

"'That  is  not  a  restaurant,'  said  the  Swede,  'it  is 
merely  a  lookout  built  for  the  comfort  of  pedestrians.' 

"'What!  a  lookout?  A  lookout?  Oh,  I  see,'  said 
I,  calming  my  fears  somewhat  by  the  thought,  'the  res 
taurant  is  close  behind  it.' 

"  'No,'  answered  he,  quite  indifferently,  'there  is 
nothing  of  the  kind  on  this  hill.'  Well,"  resumed 
Fraulein  Panzer,  after  a  bit  of  ludicrous  by-play,  "we 
went  without  food  until  we  reached  our  hotel  again 
at  two  o'clock!  Ah,  the  coffee!" 

With  the  steaming  beverage  in  hand,  and  followed 
by  a  dull-faced  maid  bearing  a  tray  of  cups  and 


94  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

saucers,  Hanchen  was  powdering-  the  gravel  under  her 
spreading  feet.  Frau  von  Berwitz  prepared  to  do  the 
honors  by  producing  a  paper  parcel  of  homemade 
cake  from  her  embroidered  bag  and  arranging  it  on 
a  plate.  "A  necessary  precaution,"  she  explained, 
"one  can't  depend  upon  getting  it  here." 

Groups  of  women  and  children,  who  had  walked 
out  from  Weimar,  enlivened  the  scene  at  intervals, 
and  then  disappeared  amongst  the  foliage.  Suddenly 
a  score  or  more  boarding  school  misses,  with  two 
elderly  teachers  following  the  buzz  of  their  voices, 
came  from  the  park. 

Making  a  concerted  swoop  on  the  scattered  chairs, 
they  gathered  about  some  long  tables  which  they  had 
joined  in  line.  The  combined  efforts  of  the  two  at 
tendants  proved  unavailing  in  this  emergency.  Ac 
cordingly,  five  or  six  hungry  pupils  had  a  merry  time 
racing  to  the  castle  and  back  with  earthen  jars  of 
sweet  milk  or  bonnie-clabber,  which  was  ladled  out 
by  one  of  the  teachers. 

In  the  midst  of  this  hurry  and  scurry,  a  trio  of 
erect,  brilliantly  uniformed  young  officers  marched 
with  clank  of  sabre  and  spur  out  through  the  great 
gateway  and  towards  Frau  von  Berwitz's  table. 
Fraulein  Panzer,  who  had  been  expecting  them, 
sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  welcome,  and,  after  they  had 
greeted  the  other  ladies,  she  introduced  Stanford  to 
Count  von  Hohenfels,  Lieutenant  von  Jahn,  and 
Lieutenant  von  Bernsdorf. 

"Just  enough  to  discourage  general  conversation," 
she  reflected  gleefully,  as  von  Hohenfels  seized  the 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  95 

vacant  chair  beside  Muriel  at  the  further  end  of  the 
table.  "Bernsdorf  has  a  voice  like  a  calliope.  Anna 
must  give  him  her  place  next  the  Countess  and  sit 
at  the  other  end;  then  I  think  I  can  manage  things." 
This  arrangement  relieved  Muriel.  The  sustained 
effort  attending  a  prolonged  conversation  on  ram 
bling  topics  with  the  Countess  had  taken  from  her 
cheeks  all  the  bloom  which  the  walk  from  Weimar 
had  given;  therefore,  von  Hohenfels  found  an  ap 
preciative  listener  to  his  animated  flow  of  words. 

Stanford  was  discussing  Goethe  with  Herr  von 
Jahn,  who  dabbled  somewhat  in  literature  as  a  recrea 
tion  from  military  life,  when  he  sprang  suddenly  to 
his  feet  and  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  shout  of 
warning. 

"Halt,  man!"  he  cried,  darting  at  an  aged  work 
man  who  had  come  out  of  a  side  path  concealed  by 
the  shrubbery,  and  was  pushing  a  wheelbarrow  be 
fore  him.  The  laborer  stood  still  in  utter  bewilder 
ment.  Stanford  bent  over  and  lifted  a  tiny  object  out 
of  a  rut,  almost  from  under  the  wheel  of  the  barrow. 

"There,"  he  said  quietly,  in  a  tone  of  relief.  "Of 
course  you  couldn't  see  it.  All  right!"  He  passed 
a  small  coin  to  the  man,  who  tipped  his  cap  and 
moved  wonderingly  on  without  speaking. 

"What  is  it,  Carl?"  inquired  Frau  von  Berwitz,  re 
laxing  an  anxious  countenance. 

"A  young  bird.  See  the  little  fellow.  He  is  just 
from  the  nest,  and  doesn't  quite  know  what  to  make 
of  it  all."  And  Stanford  tenderly  stroked  the  ugly 
little  creature,  who,  finding  himself  subjected  to  such 


96 

unusual  attentions,  began  to  show  signs  of  uneasiness. 

"All  right,  little  one;  try  your  wings,  if  you  like," 
said  he,  watching  the  bird  as  it  fluttered  away  to  an 
adjacent  shrub  and  sat  there  panting  from  fright  and 
exertion. 

Stanford's  spontaneous  act  had  removed  any  pos 
sible  constraint  following  from  a  first  introduction, 
and  a  more  genial  warmth  pervaded  the  entire  com 
pany. 

Muriel  was  a  smiling  observer  of  the  general  awak 
ening,  though  until  she  heard  his  voice  again  she 
gave  no  heed  to  what  was  being  said,  for  her  mind 
was  occupied  with  Stanford's  tender  consideration  of 
the  brute  creation. 

"That  workman  recalls  a  character  study,  the  por 
trait  of  a  wrinkled,  dried-up  old  man  which  I  saw 
a  year  or  so  ago  in  America.  The  original  was  said 
to  be  the  former  night  watchman  in  this  hamlet." 

"He  lives  here  still,"  interjected  Lieutenant  von 
Jahn,  with  sudden  interest,  "and  is  regarded  as  quite 
a  historical  personage.  The  frequenters  of  this  place 
often  send  for  him  to  come  over." 

"Then  let  us  do  so,"  exclaimed  Muriel:  and  she 
turned  to  question  the  obese  hostess,  who  had  taken 
her  station  near  the  table,  with  speculative  inte.nt  to 
serve  those  carrying  the  longest  purses. 

"He  works  on  the  roads,  gracious  Fraulein,  and 
will  not  be  at  leisure  until  after  seven  o'clock.  If  you 
are  disposed  to  await  the  hour,  I  will  send  my  maid 
to  his  cottage  to  summon  him." 

"Very  well;  and  I  invite  you  all  to  stay  and  take 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  97 

with  me  the  best  supper  Hanchen  can  provide.  The 
old  man  can  perform  for  us  afterwards,  and " 

"We  can  walk  home  by  moonlight,"  interposed 
Fraulein  Panzer,  at  once  delighted  with  the  scheme, 
and  foreseeing  an  opportunity  for  her  godson.  In 
deed,  her  vigilance  never  once  relaxed,  and  when 
Muriel  turned  from  giving  some  orders  about  the 
supper,  before  joining  the  party  for  a  stroll  in  the  park, 
it  was  Count  von  Hohenfels  who  stood  waiting  for 
her. 

Fraulein  Panzer,  looking  back  over  her  shoulder, 
immediately  hastened  her  steps  with  Lieutenant  von 
Bernsdorf  to  overtake  the  others,  who  had  disap 
peared  on  the  way  to  a  long,  shady  promenade  at  the 
rear  of  the  castle. 

With  an  instinct  quickened  by  the  Count's  ardent 
manner,  and  the  knowledge  of  his  new-born  inde 
pendence,  as  well  as  by  the  friendly  approaches  of  his 
mother,  Muriel  divined  their  pre-arranged  scheme  at 
a  glance.  She  could  not  be  displeased;  he  had  known 
her  long  enough  and  well  enough  to  declare  himself 
were  it  his  will;  but  just  because  of  her  decided,  unaf 
fected  liking  for  him,  and  a  premonition  that  he  never 
could  be  anything  more  to  her,  the  prospect  of  a 
change  in  their  agreeable  relations  made  her  un 
happy. 

At  that  moment  an  indefinable  impulse  to  com 
mand  the  situation  possessed  her.  Almost  any  other 
man  would  have  profited  by  her  agitated  bearing  to 
request  a  word  with  her  alone;  but  Hohenfels  was  the 
weaker  nature  of  the  two,  and  felt  the  force  of  her 


98  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

mood  sufficiently  to  yield  and  follow  almost  submis 
sively  as  she  moved  swiftly  away.  Fully  aware  that 
she  read  his  present  mind  aright,  he  looked  upon  her 
action  as  a  rebuff.  Wounded  and  too  bewildered  to 
collect  himself,  he  strode  silently  at  her  side,  listening 
to  her  now  steady  voice  as  they  came  up  with  the 
others.  He  could  not  help  attributing  some  of  his 
misfortune  to  the  arrival  of  Stanford.  He  had  first 
heard  his  rival's  name  with  a  foreboding  which  pur 
sued  him  until  the  hour  of  meeting;  and  at  the  table 
he  regarded  Stanford's  every  expression  with  a  jeal 
ous  thought  of  its  possible  influence  on  Muriel. 

"Why  will  a  woman  show  her  first  admiration  for 
a  man  so  unmistakably?"  he  mused,  in  recalling  her 
glance  at  Stanford  as  he  caressed  the  young  bird. 
"She  is  hard  enough  to  read  when  she  is  on  her  guard 
and  he  really  wants  to  know  her  mind."  He  could 
hear  the  American's  clean-cut,  melodious  utterances 
as  he  courteously  guided  the  dim-eyed  Countess  in 
advance  of  the  party:  and  at  this  attention  to  his 
parent  von  Hohenfels  conceived  a  special  hatred  for 
Stanford.  He  had  seen  Muriel  too  often  in  the  society  of 
his  comrades  and  her  other  acquaintances  in  Weimar 
to  exalt  any  one  above  himself  in  her  regard.  Stan 
ford  was  the  first  man,  therefore,  to  arouse  his  jealousy. 

Under  the  safeguard  of  other  eyes,  Muriel  resumed 
her  accustomed  manner  with  Hohenfels,  and  by  the 
time  a  circuitous  route  again  brought  them  out  before 
the  castle,  the  gloom  had  lifted  from  his  face. 

With  the  certainty  of  a  good  fee  in  prospect,  Han- 
chen  had  been  so  skillful  in  the  arrangement  of  the 


"M/SS     TRAUMEREI"  99 

rose-bedecked  table  that  Muriel,  as  hostess,  was  left 
without  a  care.  But  again  the  Count's  proximity — • 
for  he  had  been  quick  to  secure  a  place  beside  her — 
and  his  unrelaxing  devotion,  created  in  her  a  growing 
protest.  Though  she  was  not  conscious  of  pre-con- 
ceived  intent,  yet,  when,  in  an  opportune  moment,  she 
made  the  conversation  general,  and  knew  that  he  was 
alternately  steeped  in  ecstasy  and  devoured  by  jealousy, 
she  did  not  desist  from  tantalizing  him  to  the  utmost. 
She  knew  she  was  appearing  at  her  best;  therefore, 
how  could  she  refrain  from  attacking  Stanford's  sus 
ceptibilities,  as  the  memory  of  her  slight  grievance 
towards  him  flamed  brighter. 

It  was  this  random  bestowal  of  notice  on  the 
American  that  maddened  Hohenfels,  for  Muriel's 
quick  intelligence  made  eloquent  each  word  and 
glance.  Her  charm  dominated  the  entire  company. 
Each  hung  on  her  speech  and  spontaneously  an 
swered  her  magnetic  appeals. 

She  observed  the  dancing  light  in  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz's  eyes,  which  had  caught  the  reflection  of  her 
own,  flicker  dubiously  as  she  turned  to  the  Countess, 
who,  in  trying  to  understand,  had  rested  an  elbow  on 
the  table  and  placed  her  hand  behind  her  ear.  The 
good  woman  merely  wondered  if  her  afflicted  friend 
could  hear;  but  it  occurred  to  Muriel  that  these  con 
ventional  German  matrons  might  be  critical  wit 
nesses  of  her — a  young,  unmarried  woman's  too  ani 
mated  bearing  in  gentlemen's  society — and  with  a 
sharp  twinge  of  conscience,  she  abruptly  inquired 
for  the  old  night  watchman. 


ioo  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"He  is  in  the  house,  gracious  Fraulein,"  responded 
Hanchen,  starting  in  an  elephantine  trot  for  the  cas 
tle.  She  returned  with  a  tall,  shaded  lamp,  which 
illuminated  the  table  and  cast  long  black  stripes 
across  the  graying  driveway  as  twilight  vanished  in 
night;  and  when  she  stepped  aside,  the  ancient  Tie- 
furter  stood,  cap  in  hand,  bowing  a  hoarse  "Good- 
evening  to  the  gracious  company." 

He  was  tall,  spare,  and  very  much  bent,  and  clad 
in  coarse  working-clothes.  Keen  eyes  looked  eagerly 
forth  from  a  beardless  countenance,  seared  and 
seamed  with  years  and  exposure  to  all  sorts  of  weather. 
As  he  awaited  orders,  he  drew  the  back  of  one  horny 
band  across  his  nervously-twitching  mouth  and 
scraped  his  foot  restlessly  on  the  gravel. 

"Where  are  your  paraphernalia?"  asked  Muriel, 
looking  him  over  in  surprise.  The  man  didn't  seem 
to  understand,  and  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  when 
Lieutenant  von  Jahn  explained  to  him  in  simple  lan 
guage  that  he  was  desired  to  appear  in  his  old  cos 
tume  of  night  watchman. 

"My  home  is  near;  I  can  fetch  them  in  a  hurry," 
answered  the  old  fellow  briskly,  and,  with  an  obeis 
ance  to  the  company,  he  trotted  stiffly  away. 

The  manner  of  his  return  was  worthy  the  wit  of  a 
Thespian. 

Muriel's  party  sat  alone  in  the  vast  silence  of  the 
park.  Their  voices  rose,  fell,  died  away  and  rose 
again.  Hanchen  stood  near  to  do  their  bidding.  The 
castle  was  as  still  as  the  night  itself.  A  large  bat 
darted  through  the  lengthening  rays  of  the  lamp,  and 


< '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  i  o  i 

the  light  for  an  instant  fought  madly  with  great 
black  shadows  in  the  drive.  The  swelling  monotone 
of  a  lusty  houn  rolled  over  the  tree-tops  into  space. 
From  knoll  and  grove  a  thousand  faint  notes  floated 
back  in  response. 

"The  great  hobgoblin  summoning  his  clan,"  whis 
pered  Fraulein  Panzer.  "Look!" 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  gateway  he  stood,  a  quaint, 
bent  figure  enveloped  in  an  ample  circular  cloak,  and 
wearing  a  high  round-peaked  hat;  and  as  he  rested 
on  his  weapon  of  defense  and  attack,  a  long,  halberd- 
like  spear,  he  raised  aloft  a  short  horn  and  quavered 
in  sometimes  cracked,  though  not  unmelodious,  tones 
a  semi-incoherent  stanza.  Between  frequent  repeti 
tions  of  the  name  of  the  Deity  could  be  distinguished 
an  announcement  to  "Ye  good  people  all"  that  the 
clock  had  "struck  nine."  Advancing  a  few  steps,  his 
horn  again  woke  the  echoes,  and  he  repeated  his 
stanza  to  proclaim  the  stroke  of  "ten."  Thus,  by  easy 
approaches,  the  Lord  was  praised  at  each  hour  of  the 
night  until  broad  daylight,  for  having  permitted  the 
simple  folk  of  Tiefurt  to  live  so  long. 

"The  sun  is  a  bit  late  to-day,"  observed  Fraulein 
Panzer  facetiously,  as  the  old  man  stopped  for  breath ; 
but  he  could  no  more  than  pucker  his  wrinkled  vis 
age  into  the  semblance  of  a  smile. 

"Bravo!  bravo!  Good-morning,  old  friend!" 
shouted  Stanford. 

"Bravo!  bravo!  Good-morning!"  the  company 
sang  at  him  in  gleeful  chorus. 

"Sit  here,"  said  Muriel,  resigning  her  place  at  the 


102  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

end  of  the  table  that  he  might  be  seen  by  all,  and 
taking-  a  seat  which  Bernsdorf  provided  for  her  by 
the  Countess. 

"Fetch  him  something  he  will  like,  Hanchen!" 

"He  don't  want  nothin'  better  'an  beer,"  remarked 
the  woman,  ambling  off. 

The  foaming  liquid  unloosed  the  old  watchman's 
tongue.  "To  a  long  life  for  the  gracious  company," 
he  mumbled,  holding  his  glass  before  his  eyes ;  then, 
draining  it  at  one  draught,  he  handed  it  over  to  be 
refilled. 

Stanford  referred  to  his  well-preserved  lung  power 
and  unimpaired  intonation  in  a  way  that  the  old  man 
comprehended,  and  when  each  of  the  party  added  a 
word  of  praise,  the  octogenarian  scarcely  knew 
how  to  express  his  delight.  A  fresh  glass  of  beer, 
however,  gave  him  opportunity  to  drink  again  "to  the 
health  and  longevity  of  the  assembled  gracious  com 
pany,"  and  then  he  settled  down  in  his  chair  to  be 
catechised. 

"Did  you  know  Goethe  personally?"  began  Muriel. 

"I  had  not  the  honor,  gracious  lady;  but  in  my 
childhood  I  frequently  saw  him  here  in  Tiefurt,  and, 
indeed,  on  this  very  spot." 

When  asked  to  tell  something  of  the  great  poet's 
appearance,  the  man  seemed  stupefied,  but  he  vouch 
safed,  finally:  "My  third  wife — now  dead,  God  save 
her — had  been  for  five  or  six  years  in  her  youth  a 
housemaid  in  his  service,  and  she  related  me  much  of 
him."  What  that  information  was,  however,  no 
amount  of  questioning  could  elicit. 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  103 

Stanford  asked  him  if  he  remembered  being 
sketched  by  an  artist. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  vacantly. 

"I  have  seen  that  portrait  of  you  very  far  from 
here;  the  other  side  of  the  broad  ocean,  in  America." 

A  vague  stare  was  the  only  response,  and  he  eagerly 
sought  refuge  in  the  third  glass  of  beer  and  an  entic 
ing  sandwich  prepared  by  Frau  von  Berwitz.  When 
he  was  ready  to  go  Muriel  slipped  a  gold  piece  into 
his  rough  hand.  With  a  delighted  angular  bow, 
much  scraping  of  the  gravel,  and  a  "God's  blessing 
on  the  gracious  company,"  the  grotesque  figure  hob 
bled  away  towards  the  castle. 

Notwithstanding  Fraulein  Panzer's  manoeuvres, 
Muriel's  plan  for  Hohenfels  to  escort  his  mother,  and 
Stanford  Frau  von  Berwitz,  came  about  quite  natu 
rally,  as  they  left  the  park  with  Hanchen  calling  a 
"fine  good-night!"  after  them. 

The  rising  moon  had  already  whitened  the  broad, 
smooth  Chaussee  beyond  the  Ilm,  and  the  cooling 
night  air  came  over  the  lowland  meadows  in  waves 
of  delicious  perfume. 

What  a  long,  but,  on  the  whole,  what  a  pleasant  day 
it  had  been,  thought  Muriel,  as  she  leisurely  ascended 
the  hill  with  Lieutenant  von  Jahn.  At  the  en 
trance  to  the  gloomy  Webicht,  Stanford  smilingly 
offered  her  his  left  arm,  and  Hohenfels,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  saw  them  walking  four  abreast.  Once, 
in  helping  her  lightly  over  a  damp  stretch  in. the  road, 
Stanford  held  her  hand  so  close  under  his  arm  that 
she  felt  the  beating  of  his  heart,  and  after  that,  she 


1 04  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

observed  with  pleasure  that  he  bestowed  upon  her  the 
same  protecting  attention  that  he  bestowed  upon  Frau 
von  Berwitz. 

Just  beyond  the  lower  bridge  at  Weimar,  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  the  old  palace,  hasty  "good-nights" 
were  said. 

Muriel  had  barely  time  to  remark  the  feverish  touch 
of  the  Count's  hand,  before  they  again  passed  into  the 
moonlight,  as  the  clock  in  the  tower  struck  eleven. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  sound  of  childish  prattle,  rising  from  the  gar 
den  to  her  open  windows,  awoke  Muriel  the  next 
morning  at  six  o'clock.  The  events  of  the  preceding 
day  recurred  to  her  with  such  force  that  a  return 
to  slumber  was  impossible.  Moreover,  the  prospect 
of  playing  in  the  lesson  at  Liszt's  that  afternoon  was 
incentive  enough  to  forthwith  bestir  herself  for  an 
hour's  practice  before  breakfast. 

Gretchen  had  temporarily  abandoned  her  watering- 
pot  to  do  some  weeding  about  the  door  of  the  garden 
salon.  Elsa's  little  fingers  were  busied  with  knitting 
a  stocking  for  herself.  Mariechen  had  become  un 
usually  loquacious,  and,  forgetting  her  wonted  timid 
ity,  she  gave  vent  to  a  rippling  peal  of  laughter. 

"Sh!"  Gretchen  gave  her  a  warning  look.  "You 
will  disturb  the  Fraulein,  Mariechen;  she  is  still 
sleeping — up  there." 

As  she  pointed  to  the  upper  window,  an  exclama 
tion  of  surprise  escaped  her.  Muriel  was  smiling 
at  them  from  amidst  the  rich  mass  of  pink  and  white 
bloom. 

"Ach,  Fraulein!  Good-morning!  Now,  Mariechen, 
see  what  you  have  done  by  making  such  a  noise. 
The  gracious  Fraulein  could  not  sleep."  Mariechen's 
chubby  face  fell.  Her  head  sank  forward  on  her 
breast  and  she  thrust  one  thumb  into  her  mouth — 
the  personification  of  abject  woe. 

J05 


ro6  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Poor  little  thing.  Really,  Gretchen,  you  are  too 
hard  on  her.  She  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  and  it  is 
high  time  I  was  up.  I  love  to  hear  her  laugh.  Good 
morning,  Elsa.  Look  up,  Mariechen.  Here!"  Mu 
riel  plucked  a  rose  and  dropped  it  at  the  tiny  maiden's 
feet. 

"Thank  the  Fraulein,  stupid!"  admonished  the 
elder  sister,  sticking  the  flower  into  the  baby's  clinched 
fist.  "Ach,  fie,  fie!  what  will  mother  say?".  It  was 
of  no  avail.  The  child  timidly  raised  her  head 
enough  to  roll  her  eyes  at  Muriel,  and  as  quickly  low 
ered  them. 

"Never  mind,  Mariechen,  I  will  soon  be  down,  and 
then  we  will  talk  about  it."  And  Muriel  drew  back 
into  the  room  to  complete  her  toilet. 

As  she  was  about  to  descend,  she  was  attracted 
to  the  window  by  the  mingling  of  a  man's  laugh  with 
a  quick  chuckle  of  mirth  from  Mariechen.  Stanford 
was  standing  by  the  rose-arbor  tossing  the  child 
above  his  head.  Mariechen  alternately  caught  her 
breath  and  screamed  with  delight,  while  Gretchen 
stood  with  her  arms  akimbo,  the  muddy  palms  of 
her  hands  turned  out  and  a  broad  smile  coaxing  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  towards  her  ears.  Elsa  had 
ceased  knitting  to  gape  in  speechless  admiration. 

"Well,  little  one,  how  do  you  like  it?"  cried  Stan 
ford  merrily. 

Mariechen  responded  by  an  irrepressible  chuckle, 
as  she  clutched  his  shoulders  with  her  two  fat  little 
hands,  and  turned  her  clear,  laughing  blue  eyes  on 
his  moustache. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  107 

"What  is  your  name?     Can  you  tell  me?     No?" 

"Tell  the  gentleman  your  name,  Mariechen,"  said 
Elsa  reprovingly. 

"Mariechen,  is  it?  Now,  then,  Mariechen,  what 
say  you  to  a  canter  on  my  shoulder?"  With  a  quick 
movement  he.  pitched  her  into  place,  and  never  wait 
ing  for  an  answer,  he  started  down  the  central  walk. 
The  child's  merry  shouts  started  Stanford's  spontan 
eous  laughter. 

"Now,  tell  me,  little  girl,  who  are  you?  Where 
do  you  live?" 

"They  live  one  flight  up,  sir,  at  the  rear  end  of 
the  court,  next  to  our  Fraulein's  rooms,"  volunteered 
Gretchen,  who  had  already  begun  to  linger  over 
any  task  which  brought  her  into  Stanford's  charmed 
proximity. 

"Neighbors!  Then  we  shall  meet  often.  Eh, 
Mariechen?  You  won't  forget  me?" 

"Indeed,  she  won't,  sir,"  piped  in  Elsa. 

"So!    Aufwiedersehen,  little  girl." 

"No — no!"  screamed  the  little  one,  in  her  childish 
treble,  running  with  outstretched  arms  in  pursuit. 
Stanford  whirled  about  and  saved  her  a  bruised 
nose,  as  she  tripped  on  the  gravel  and  headed  down 
wards.  Catching  her  to  his  breast,  he  caressed  the 
little  tow  head  nestling  against  his  cheek,  as  the  child 
flung  her  arms  about  his  neck  in  close  embrace.  A 
tender  smile  lit  up  his  face,  and  he  stood  a  moment 
as  if  lost  in  reverie.  With  a  preoccupied  expression 
Muriel  drew  back  from  the  rose-blooms,  and  de 
scended  to  the  music-room.  When  she  threw  open 


io8  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

the  doors  he  was  gone,  and  Mariechen  was  sniffing 
audibly,  her  head  buried  in  the  scanty  folds  of  Elsa's 
skirt.  All  verbal  attempts  failing  to  pacify  the  child, 
Muriel  resorted  to  stratagem,  by  suddenly  winding 
a  long  blue  ribbon  about  Elsa.  In  self-interest  Marie 
chen  whirled  about  and  demurely  stood  still  to  have 
her  arms  bound  close  to  her  body  in  like  manner. 
"So  I  must  appeal  to  your  vanity  to  win  you  over, 
little  lady?"  Muriel  shook  her  finger  in  mock  re- 
proval.  Mariechen  blinked  away  the  tears  anr1 
smiled  sheepishly. 

"Is  it  a  bargain,  coquette?  We  are  friends?"  No 
resistance  being  offered,  she  stooped  and  kissed  the 
child  affectionately  on  both  cheeks.  "The  very  spots 
which  his  lips  touched!"  Muriel  remembered,  with 
a  rush  of  blood  to  her  face.  She  arose  almost 
brusquely,  and,  with  a  hasty  farewell,  started  for  the 
music-room. 

"What  am  I  coming  to!"  she  reflected,  feeling  the 
beatings  of  her  heart.  "This  is  utter  nonsense!" 
She  wrinkled  her  brow  into  a  frown  of  determination, 
began  to  hum  aimlessly,  and  was  astonished  to  find 
herself  lapsing  into  Schumann's  lovely  song,  "Du 
meine  Seele,  Du  meine  Herzen." 

She  raised  the  lid  of  her  piano  with  a  bang  and 
plunged  recklessly  into  the  introduction  of  the  Liszt 
concerto.  Nevertheless,  an  indefinable  memory 
seemed  to  keep  warm  the  region  of  her  heart,  and 
spread,  like  a  lingering  caress,  to  her  throat  and 
brow;  and  when  she  caught  herself  at  intervals  dwell 
ing  with  admiration  on  Stanford's  unfolding  charac- 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  109 

ter,  she  frightened  herself  back  to  mental  concentra 
tion  on  her  work  by  picturing  the  horrors  of  a  fiasco 
in  the  afternoon  lesson. 

It  seemed  two  hours,  instead  of  one,  before  Gret- 
chen  summoned  her  to  breakfast  under  the  plum- 
trees.  With  a  vague  sentiment  that  she  had  some 
thing  to  resist,  Muriel  preserved  an  easy  repose 
throughout  the  meal,  saying  little  and  listening  to 
Stanford's  animated  account  of  a  rapid  walk  amongst 
the  old  haunts  in  the  park. 

In  remembrance  of  an  early-learned  duty,  after 
breakfast  he  picked  up  the  daily  paper  and  read 
aloud  the  most  interesting  bits  of  news.  Muriel 
lounged  back,  forgetful  of  her  nervousness  about 
the  lesson,  and  listened  in  luxurious  indolence  while 
the  sun  line  crept  nearer  and  nearer  the  table.  A 
paragraph  referring  to  Liszt  brought  her  to  a  reali 
zation  of  the  hour. 

"Oh!"  she  ejaculated,  with  a  start;  and  instantly 
the  benumbing  fear  which  always  accompanied  her 
to  a  performance  at  the  Royal  Gardens,  possessed 
her  every  nerve.  "The  concerto!  Excuse  me, 
please." 

"What  is  there  so  dreadful  about  those  lessons?" 
queried  Frau  von  Berwitz. 

"One's  self,  sometimes,"  laughed  Muriel,  retreat 
ing  without  further  parley. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"What  a  life!"  sighed  Muriel,  after  two  consecu 
tive  hours'  practice.  "I  recover  only  to  work  again, 
and  so  on  throughout  the  day,  until  those  days  be 
come  weeks,  months,  years,  a  lifetime!  How  must 
it  feel  to  sleep  long,  to  lie  in  a  hammock  without  a 
care,  to  drift  aimlessly  through  an  existence.  That's 
it  exactly,  'an  existence,'  not  life!  We  prefer  ours, 
don't  we,  dear  heart?"  and  Muriel  rested  her  moist 
cheek  lovingly  on  the  silent  piano,  as  if  it,  too,  un 
derstood.  "No!  Rather  the  delight  which  we  only 
can  know.  It  is  worth  all  the  back-aches  in  Chris 
tendom."  Straightening  herself  laboriously,  Muriel 
sought  the  outer  air,  and,  with  the  rapidity  peculiar  to 
one  of  her  temperament,  regained  her  wonted  strength 
and  buoyancy  after  a  few  turns  in  the  long  walk. 

Her  thoughts  had  gone  a-calling  with  Frau  von 
Berwitz  and  Stanford,  when  she  tripped  restlessly 
down  the  steps  to  the  lower  terrace,  and  came  face 
to  face  with  her  young  countryman,  who  was  quietly 
reading  a  paper-covered  volume  in  the  shade  of  a 
sturdy  young  tree. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  she  said  in  surprise,  and  stopping 
short  she  turned  to  retreat.  "I  thought  you  had 
gone  with  Tante  Anna  to  make  some  visits." 

"We  have  postponed  them.  Fraulein  Panzer  sent 
a  note  as  we  were  leaving,  to  say  that  she  and  the 
Countess  would  be  here  before  noon." 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  in 

"Then  I  will  not!"  observed  Muriel  emphatically 
to  herself,  pondering  on  the  scheme  meant  to  entrap 
her.  "There  is  a  law  in  this  household  as  to  the  dis 
position  of  callers  during  practice  hours." 

"Pray,  don't  go!  I  haven't  a  monopoly  of  this 
terrace,"  continued  Stanford. 

"But  you  are  reading — and — I  am  walking."  Mu 
riel  smiled  brilliantly,  every  trace  of  weariness  in  her 
expression  gone,  and  moved  on  towards  the  stairs. 

"What  is  that?"  queried  Stanford,  listening,  with  an 
evident  disposition  to  detain  her. 

The  regular  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  many  feet  filled 
the  air.  It  grew  louder,  and  so  near  that  Stanford 
glanced  questioningly  towards  the  back  street. 

"Yes,  they  sometimes  come  this  way,"  said  Muriel, 
and  she  walked  with  him  to  the  iron  railing  and 
leaned  over.  At  that  instant  there  came  into  the 
street  from  the  first  turn  at  the  left,  an  officer  on  a 
handsome  bay  charger,  followed  by  a  solid  body  of 
soldiers,  with  glittering  bayonets  and  helmets. 

"The  troops  returning  from  target  practice  at  the 
Ettersberg,"  she  added.  A  peculiar  light  flashed  from 
her  eye  and  she  quickly  averted  her  face.  "Count 
von  Hohenfels  told  me  last  night  that  they  were  to 
leave  the  barracks  at  six  o'clock  this  morning.  Poor 
man," — she  was  closely  eyeing  the  soldiers, — "how 
he  does  dislike  military  life!  The  discipline  is,  un 
doubtedly,  wholesome  for  one  of  his  temperament, 
but  his  heart  and  thoughts  are  engaged  elsewhere." 

Stanford  gave  her  a  curious  sideward  glance,  which 
she  did  not  see;  but  as  she  spoke  quite  indifferently, 


ii2  ' '  MISS     TEA  UMEREI " 

he  transferred  his  scrutiny  to  the  superb-looking  regi 
mental  band,  whose  burnished  horns  were  ordered 
into  requisition  as  they  came  under  the  garden  wall. 

Almost  deafening  was  the  sudden  blare  of  brass; 
then  the  inspiring  music  of  a  well-played  military 
march  slowly  receded.  The  ranks  followed  with 
pomp  and  dazzling  glitter.  The  three  officers  of 
the  Tiefurt  party  were  recognized  in  turn,  though 
only  Count  von  Hohenfels  lifted  his  eyes  as  he  ap 
proached  the  terrace  wall.  Above  him  stood  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  at  her  side  her  handsome,  stal 
wart  young  countryman.  He  smiled  a  response  to 
their  friendly  greeting,  as  a  suffocating  sensation 
crept  into  his  breast,  and  blackness  descended  like  a 
veil  between  his  eyes  and  the  bright  sunlight. 

"He  makes  a  fine-looking  officer,"  observed  Stan 
ford,  with  a  motion  at  Hohenfels. 

"Very,"  said  Muriel,  still  watching  him.  "He 
once  told  me  that  he  invariably  pulled  on  his  uniform 
with  a  bad  grace,  as  being  the  outward  semblance 
of  war,  a  thing  which  he  abhors  as  a  relic  of  bar 
barism  and  wholly  unworthy  our  nineteenth-century 
enlightenment." 

"True,"  said  Stanford,  with  the  indifferent  air  of  a 
thinking  man  enjoying  his  vacation  too  much  to 
enter  into  protracted  discussion;  "if  a  thing  isn't 
right,  it's  wrong.  Courts  decide  the  question  for 
individuals,  why  shouldn't  representatives  of  all  na 
tions  meet  in  conclave;  in  other  words,  form  an 
international  court  to  settle  disputes  arising  between 
countries?" 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  113 

"They  will,  some  day,  if  more  of  our  young  men 
will  give  themselves  up  to  serious  thought.  The 
future  of  our  country  is  dependent  upon  its  young 
men!"  exclaimed  Muriel,  feeling  that  she  had  not  said 
a  very  original  thing,  yet  unable  to  repress  a  certain 
patriotic  enthusiasm,  which  a  growing  acquaintance 
with  Stanford's  manner  of  thought  had  revived. 

"Is  'our  country'  Germany  or  America?" 

Muriel  turned  sharply.  She  could  see  nothing  in 
this  attempt  at  facetiousness  beyond  a  disinclination 
for  serious  conversation  with  a  woman.  They  were 
both  lounging  on  the  iron  baluster,  and  he  was  watch 
ing  her  with  a  mysterious  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"America,"  she  said,  and  looked  back  at  the  last 
soldiers  vacating  the  street.  "If  I  am  a  good  Ger 
man,  I  am  a  still  better  American." 

"When  in  foreign  lands,  possibly?" 

"By  no  means/'  affirmed  Muriel  stoutly;  "I  love 
my  home.  I  would  be  there  now,  were  it  not  for 
the  Master.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  make  the  most  of 
the  present  opportunity,  for  he  is  a  very  old  man." 

"So  America  will  profit  by  the  result  after  all?" 

"I  suppose  all  earnest  workers  do  some  good,  no 
matter  how  humble  their  attainments,"  said  Muriel 
modestly;  "but  I  don't  mean  to  use  my  music  in  a 
professional  sense.  I  dream  of  a  time  when  routine 
in  my  art  will  have  strengthened  me  to  take  my  daily 
recreation  in  the  pursuance  of  other  studies.  As  yet, 
music  masters  me,  and  I  succumb  to  sheer  idleness 
when  I  get  up  from  the  piano." 

"Then,  in  time,  you  will  have  to  find  a  relief  from 


i  i  4  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

'recreation/  as  I  am  doing  now,"  said  Stanford  with 
a  genial  smile,  which  made  Muriel  again  think  that 
perhaps  she  had,  after  all,  misinterpreted  his  motive 
for  avoiding  serious  conversation  with  her.  With  a 
plausible  excuse  for  lingering  on  the  terrace,  she  had 
willingly  ignored  the  curious  eyes  across  the  street  for 
a  few  enjoyable  moments,  but  the  sudden  appearance 
of  Fraulein  Panzer  and  the  Countess  von  Hohenfels, 
coming  arm  in  arm  down  the  slope  from  the  palace, 
warned  her  to  withdraw. 

"Complete  relaxation,"  continued  Stanford,  who 
had  not  seen  them,  as  he  accompanied  her  towards  the 
garden,  "is  the  best  cure  for  an  overworked  brain. 
This  is  my  first  vacation  in  three  years.  See  how  I 
pass  it!"  He  laughingly  indicated  the  book  in  his 
hand — one  of  the  latest  ephemeral  novels.  "As  a  rule 
I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  such  things, 
but  I  have  concluded  to  free  my  mind  absolutely  of 
business  and  'recreation'  worries,  and  be  lazy  awhile, 
as  an  experiment!" 

Muriel  thought  she  knew  what  he  meant  by  'recre 
ation'  worries.  Frau  von  Berwitz  had  referred  to 
his  political  activity,  and  from  what  Muriel  herself 
had  seen,  she  invested  him  with  the  loftiest  ideals  and 
the  noblest  endeavors  in  carrying  them  out.  What 
higher  aim  in  life  could  a  man  have?  Especially  in 
America,  where,  it  seemed  to  her,  men  were  ruled  by 
party  spirit  and  the  prospect  of  personal  gain  rather 
than  by  a  desire  to  protect  the  united  interests  of 
the  land.  Stanford  took  on  the  outlines  of  a  hero 
in  her  eyes  as  she  pictured  him  denouncing  corrup- 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  115 

tion  and  demanding  absolute  honesty  in  public  of 
fices.  She  foresaw  the  day  when  men  would  no 
longer  refuse  to  associate  their  names  with  politics 
for  fear  of  the  resulting  stigma;  and  at  the  head  of 
this  reformation  stood  Stanford.  She  wondered  if 
there  were  other;  in  America  as  brave  and  able  as  he. 
Certainly  she  had  known  no  other  like  him.  Those 
whom  she  had  met  abroad  seemed  either  indifferent 
to  the  national  good  or  lacking  the  courage  of  their 
convictions.  Workers,  not  grumblers,  were  needed. 

Muriel  was  beginning  to  get  so  much  inspiration 
out  of  Stanford's  society  and  her  own  curiosity  about 
him,  that  the  nearing  click,  click,  click,  click  of  two 
pairs  of  heels  in  the  echoing  street  fell  untimely  on 
her  ears. 

"It  is  my  hour  for  rest,"  she  said,  halting  re 
luctantly  on  the  ascending  steps. 

"Then  you  do  rest  sometimes?"  Stanford  gave  her 
an  incredulous  smile,  as  he  forebore  to  follow. 

"Always — the  day  of  a  lesson — for  an  hour  or  more 
before  dinner.  Pianists,  as  a  rule,  don't  practice  at 
all  the  day  of  a  public  appearance,  and  this  is  much 
more  trying,  I  assure  you,"  added  Muriel,  with  a 
nervous  shrug  of  the  shoulders;  "but — my  playing 
to-day  was  rather  unexpected,  and — I  didn't  feel  quite 
— 'in  finger,'  as  the  Master  sometimes  says.  Auf- 
wiedersehen!" 

He  was  still  looking  after  her  as  she  turned  away, 
as  if  he  were  not  quite  ready  to  terminate  the  inter 
view.  It  was  the  first  frank,  trustful  glance — in 
which  there  is  no  reserve — of  a  friend.  In  the  in- 


1 1 6  •  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

timacy  of  life  in  a  united  household,  it  had  taken  little 
more  than  twenty-four  hours  to  dissipate  the  newness 
and  formality  of  early  acquaintance. 

To  Muriel  the  last  memory  of  his  blond  head,  as 
he  bared  it  for  a  sunbath,  was  as  that  of  one  out  of  the 
"long  ago,"  who  had  reappeared  after  having  dropped 
entirely  away  from  her  life.  "Of  course  he  didn't 
mean  it!  But  I  should  really  like  to  know  what  he 
thinks,"  she  was  saying  to  herself  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Court.  "It  was  my  own  freaky  imagination.  I 
must  have  a  vacation  soon,  when  more  of  the  pupils 
are  in,  or  I  shall  be  a  wreck.  So,  good-by,  Resent 
ment!  Ah,  Gretchen!  Should  any  one  inquire  for 
me,  say  I  play  this  afternoon  at  Liszt's,  and  am  sleep 
ing." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

It  had  been  a  busy  day  up  at  the  great,  factory-like 
barracks  on  the  hill.  The  troops  were  undergoing 
the  annual  extra  drill  which  precedes  the  autumn 
manoeuvres.  The  few  unmarried  officers  whose  in 
comes  enabled  them  to  habitually  assemble  at  the 
mid-day  table  d'hote  in  the  "Hotel  zum  Erbprinzen," 
had  been  compelled  to  take  soldier's  fare  in  the  mess- 
room.  All  the  afternoon  a  cloud  of  dust  hung  over 
the  vast  exercise  ground,  as  bugle-calls  and  stern 
commands  arose  in  obligate  above  the  dull  thunder 
of  many  descending  feet  Hohenfels  led  his  men 
through  their  evolutions  with  a  gusto  that  astonished 
them.  He  was  painfully  in  earnest,  had  they  but  known 
it.  The  advent  of  Stanford  in  the  household  of  Frau 
von  Berwitz  had  suddenly  developed  in  the  Count 
a  combativeness  which  his  long  military  training  had 
failed  to  incite.  Moreover,  under  the  penetrating  rays 
of  a  scorching  sun,  the  physical  discomfort  of  thickly- 
padded  shoulders  and  a  heavy  helmet  intensified  his 
irritability. 

The  army  of  the  enemy  stood  before  his  mind's  eye 
concentrated  in  the  person  of  Stanford;  and  ere  he 
gave  order  to  break  ranks,  the  American  had  fallen  a 
thousand  times  under  his  fierce  onslaught. 

Hohenfels  took  abrupt  leave  of  his  comrades  and 
hurried  diagonally  across  a  corner  of  the  parade 


1 1 8  « 'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

ground  to  the  verdurous  arch  shading  the  way  to  the 
old  stone  bridge  by  the  palace.  After  her  first  meet 
ing  with  Muriel,  his  mother  had  given  him  her  full 
sanction  to  their  union.  What,  then,  but  his  own 
cowardly  heart  prevented  his  asking  her  to  become 
his  wife?  The  memory  of  opportunities  lost  within 
the  twenty-four  hours  brought  an  angry  flush  to  his 
face,  and  all  the  more  because  of  the  newly-arisen 
peril  menacing  his  suit. 

Why  had  he  submitted  to  Muriel's  elusive  im 
pulses?  As  they  ante-dated  the  arrival  of  Stanford, 
an  utter  stranger  to  her,  what  did  they  signify?  Was 
it  a  woman's  way  in  such  a  crisis ;  and  did  she  wish  to 
be  won  by  storm?  Did  she,  then,  lay  more  stress  on 
his  manner  of  offering  himself  than  on  the  sincerity 
of  the  act  itself? 

Was  his  ignorance  of  feminine  foibles  to  mar  his 
future  happiness.  Did  not  a  true  woman  value  the 
first  pure  love  of  a  man?  Could  she  not  accept  him, 
unsophisticated  as  she  found  him,  or  would  she  have 
him  as  artful  as  "Tannhauser"  in  the  "Venusberg"? 
If  Muriel  cared  even  the  half  for  him  that  he  did  for 
her,  why  couldn't  she  say  so  without  reserve?  And 
supposing  she  did  not.  He  had  had  unshaken  faith 
in  the  ultimate  winning  power  of  his  all-absorbing 
love.  Now,  with  imprecations  on  Stanford,  he  ques 
tioned  it. 

The  worldly  advantages  of  wealth  and  social  rank, 
weighing  in  his  favor,  had  never  occurred  to  Hohen- 
fels  as  a  possible  temptation  to  Muriel,  for  he  was  one 
of  those  who  exalt  talent,  such  as  hers,  above  a  mere 


TRA  UMEREI "  119 

empty  title;  and  as  for  riches,  she  had  an  abundance. 
Therefore,  he  resolved  upon  a  bold  stroke  to  still  the 
tortures  of  suspense.  Could  he  but  reach  Liszt's  by 
the  close  of  the  lesson,  he  would  ask  Muriel  for  a 
stroll  in  the  park.  It  was  his  only  chance  to  inter 
view  her,  unattended,  before  the  half-past  seven 
o'clock  supper  to  which  Frau  von  Berwitz  had  bid 
den  him  with  his  mother  and  Fraulein  Panzer. 
Scharwenka  was  to  be  there  also,  and,  of  course,  the 
ubiquitous  Stanford. 

The  severe  discipline  to  which  mind  and  body  had 
been  subjected  fortified  him  as  he  started  down  the 
hill.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  overthrow  mountains  in 
his  boundless  strength.  For  a  moment  only  he  halted 
on  the  old  bridge  to  listen  to  the  falling  water.  He 
loved  its  music;  it  rested  his  fevered  brain. 

He  hastened  onward.  A  soft  breeze  was  sweeping 
over  the  lowlands.  It  cooled  his  flushed  cheeks  and 
touched  the  leafy  boughs  overhanging  the  serpentine 
way  through  the  open  park.  The  moving  shadows 
about  his  feet,  it  now  occurred  to  him  with  despair, 
reflected  the  inner  workings  of  his  heart.  His  spirit 
faltered  with  each  step  which  brought  him  nearer  the 
Royal  Gardens.  Had  he  hearkened  too  long  to  the 
Urn?  Was  the  curse  of  the  Lorelei  in  its  entrancing 
song?  Did  his  courage  belong  to  the  hill  alone? 
Doubts  and  fears  assailed  him  like  so  many  invisible 
demons  tugging  at  the  cords  tightened  about  his 
heart.  He  felt  that  he  would  rather  lead  Bernsdorf's 
easy-minded,  phlegmatic  existence  than  to  purchase 
heavenly  raptures  at  such  a  price. 


120  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

At  the  rustic  gate  a  great  fear  overcame  him.  How 
could  his  asinine  manner  secure  him  else  than  a  re 
fusal?  "Be  a  man!"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth; 
and  aware  of  curious  eyes  watching  him  from  the 
house,  he  strode  resolutely  up  the  walk.  Some  pupils 
had  just  straggled  out  into  the  door-yard.  Hohen- 
fels  gave  the  military  salute,  and  inquired  for  Miss 
Holme. 

"She  is  still  above,"  said  one  of  them,  pointing  at 
the  upper  windows. 

Hohenfels  sprang  upon  the  stoop  and  pulled  the 
bell.  Other  pupils  were  coming  out.  He  stood  aside 
to  let  them  pass,  and  because  of  his  conspicuous  uni 
form,  he  stepped  into  the  dim  vestibule,  and  ran  face 
to  face  with  a  man  who  had  likewise  an  evident  pur 
pose  in  loitering  there.  It  was  Stanford. 

"Good  afternoon,  Count."  He  had  come  forward 
and  proffered  his  hand.  Hohenfels  accepted  it  and 
made  a  mighty  effort  not  to  think,  in  order  to  be  per 
fectly  conventional. 

"Good  afternoon,"  he  responded,  in  a  dull  tone. 
Instinctively  he  drew  back  into  deeper  shadow. 

"You  are  late  for  the  lesson." 

"Yes .  That  is — I  am  not  a  pupil.  I  some 
times  come  to — to " 

"You  are  seeking  the  young  Fraulein,  are  you  not, 
Herr  Lieutenant?"  inquired  the  housekeeper,  appear 
ing  in  the  kitchen  door.  "She  has  not  yet  come 
down." 

"Yes,  she  has,  Frau  Pauline." 

Following  the  tones  of  her  voice  around  the  final 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  121 

turn  in  the  descent,  Muriel  stopped  on  the  open 
threshold  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway.  She  was  evi 
dently  very  nervous.  Her  cheeks  were  flaming  with 
color,  and  her  restless  eyes  seemed  to  emit  fiery  darts 
from  their  darkening  depths.  It  was  apparent  to  the 
.two  young  men  that  she  was  not  thinking  of  them. 

"You  have  just  played?"  said  Stanford,  after  an 
interchange  of  greetings. 

"My  concerto  had  the  last  place,"  she  answered, 
with  a  pathetic  little  smile. 

Stanford  divined  the  rest.  He  had  amused  himself, 
back  in  the  shadow,  studying  the  pupils  as  they  came 
down  the  stairs.  They  were  much  of  a  type — pale, 
earnest  youths  and  maidens  with  eyes  which  were 
roving  and  intelligent  in  speaking,  and  dreamy  or 
introspective  in  repose;  abnormally  sensitive,  and 
pursuing  life  at  a  nervous  tension  which  unfitted 
them  for  associations  outside  their  own  mental  work 
shops.  He  pictured  to  himself  Muriel  waiting 
throughout  the  long  lesson  in  a  spiritual  atmosphere 
created  by  these  high-strung  natures  and  intensified 
by  the  magnetic  intellectuality  of  Franz  Liszt,  waiting 
to  submit  herself  as  the  objective  point  of  rigid  dis 
cipline  in  all  that  critical  throng;  and  he  ceased  won 
dering  at  her  pallor  and  quiet,  preoccupied  expression 
during  dinner,  and,  later,  at  three  o'clock  "coffee"  in 
the  summer  house. 

Out  of  regard  to  her  obvious  desire  for  solitude,  he 
had  desisted  from  offering  his  escort  to  Liszt's;  but 
when  Frau  von  Berwitz  reminded  her  that  after  the 
lesson  she  must  call  on  the  Countess,  he  had  asked 


122  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

Muriel  if  he  might  not  join  her  at  the  Royal  Gardens 
and  go  with  her.  In  view  of  her  unqualified  assent, 
he  suspected  that  the  coming  of  Hohenfels  was 
equally  a  surprise  to  her.  Therefore,  as  he  had  no 
desire  to  withdraw,  courtesy  certainly  did  not  demand 
it  of  him ;  and,  for  the  rest — the  Count  would  doubt 
less  survive  it. 

From  the  transformation  in  Muriel's  countenance, 
Stanford  surmised  something  of  her  success ;  but  not 
all.  Liszt  had  encouraged  her  as  never  before,  and 
those  of  the  pupils  who  ever  acknowledged  anything 
agreeable  of  a  colleague  went  away  pronouncing  her 
performance  the  greatest  thus  far  of  the  season. 
Even  she  herself  was  faintly  surprised  at  her  display 
of  unknown  power.  However,  her  strength  seemed 
to  go  with  the  last  note  of  the  concerto.  In  her  be 
wilderment  at  the  measure  of  praise  bestowed,  she  re 
membered  Stanford's  promise  to  await  her  below. 
Buoyed  up  by  a  momentary  consciousness  of  tri 
umph,  she  hastened  to  depart;  but  Liszt  had  not  fin 
ished  expressing  pleasure  at  her  interpretation  of  his 
concerto.  He  slowly  accompanied  her  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  and  stood  there,  smiling  to  call,  "Aufwie- 
dersehen." 

The  unexpected  appearance  and  all  too  plain  con 
fusion  of  Hohenfels  gave  her  an  uncomfortable  sen 
sation.  An  effort  was  required  to  overcome  the  awk 
ward  situation.  She  stood  irresolutely  in  the  door 
way,  quite  ready  to  prolong  the  conversation. 

"Herr  Scharwenka,  who  dined  here,"  she  said,  "had 
gone  to  the  city  with  some  of  the  gentlemen.  As  I 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  123 

had  studied  the  concerto  with  him,  I  told  the  Master 
I  knew  he  would  play  the  orchestral  part  at  the  sec 
ond  piano,  if  I  waited.  He  came  late,  and  is  now  in 
the  salon." 

Muriel  stood  aside  as  some  one  started  down 
the  stairs.  It  was  Rivington,  whom  she  stopped  to 
introduce  to  the  others. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  been  the  cause  of  your  not 
playing,"  she  said  in  English.  "The  Master  said  he 
could  not  stand  more  than  one  of  his  concertos  in  an 
afternoon.  Whether  he  meant  it,"  she  continued,  with 
an  amused  laugh,  "I  don't  know;  but  he  promised 
he  would  hear  you  play  the  'A  major'  next 
lesson." 

"I  have  to  thank  you  for  much,"  said  Rivington, 
who  had  exhausted  his  encomiums  on  her  playing, 
in  the  salon. 

Muriel  raised  her  hand  in  protest,  and  then  said 
quietly  to  Hohenfels,  as  they  all  passed  into  the  door- 
yard:  "You  are  just  in  time  to  go  with  us  to  call  on 
your  mother." 

"Will  you  not  come  in  this  evening  informally?" 
she  added  in  English  to  Rivington,  who  had  evinced 
considerable  timidity,  during  the  lesson,  about  ap 
proaching  his  fellow-students.  She  felt  sorry  for  the 
boy  in  his  loneliness,  and  considered  it  a  duty  to  give 
her  young  countryman,  as  far  as  practicable,  the  bene 
fit  of  her  experience.  "I  live  at Strasse,  number 

ten,  one  flight  up.  Mr.  Stanford  has  promised  to 
sing,  and — I  hope  Count  von  Hohenfels  will  play  for 
us?" 


124  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

Hohenfels  avowed,  in  very  broken,  though  fluent 
English,  his  readiness  to  do  anything  Miss  Holme 
desired. 

It  was  a  happy  thought  of  Muriel's  to  continue  con 
versation  in  her  mother  tongue,  as  the  three  bade 
Rivington  "Aufwiedersehen"  and  started  for  the  park ; 
for  the  mercurial  Hohenfels  found  speedly  relief  from 
his  disappointment  in  the  construction  of  his  English 
sentences,  and  still  further  in  the  fact  that  she  firmly 
refused  to  let  Stanford  carry  her  music-roll.  And  Ho 
henfels  staid  with  his  mother,  when  Muriel,  after  a 
formal  call,  went  home  on  the  plea  of  needing  rest. 
She  had  forgotten  her  plea,  however,  when  they 
reached  the  old  rose-garden,  and  she  sat  talking  with 
Stanford  on  the  lower  terrace,  until  twilight  shadows 
crept  around  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  genial  wit  and  brilliant  conversational  gifts  of 
the  Berlin  pianist  and  composer  gave  the  final  touch 
of  success  to  Frau  von  Berwitz's  supper  party.  Un 
der  the  sway  of  his  magnetic  personality  selfish  con 
siderations  were  forgotten.  Nor  did  they  again 
spring  up  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  the  little  com 
pany  until  after  Herr  Scharwenka's  early  departure 
for  the  Russischer  Hof  to  join  a  party  of  Lisztianer, 
as  the  pupils  of  the  old  Master  were  called  in 
Weimar. 

Rivington  came  in,  and  immediately  Fraulein 
Panzer  began  to  speak  of  Liszt.  Everywhere  in  the 
little  capital  his  name  was  used  as  a  wedge  to  open 
conversation  with  a  new-comer.  Already  the  lad  had 
begun  to  think  of  the  Weimaraner  as  of  two  factions 
— those  \vho  knew  Liszt  and  those  who  did  not. 
The  former  related  reminiscences  of  him ;  and  the  lat 
ter,  the  freshest  gossip  of  the  Royal  Gardens.  Frau 
lein  Panzer  was  doing  both.  She  had  known  the 
Master  for  five-and-thirty  years,  and  now  reverted 
to  their  first  meeting. 

Muriel  had  begun  to  feel  bored ;  she  had  heard  the 
story  until  she  knew  every  word  of  it  by  heart.  She 
was  in  a  mood  for  enjoyment,  and  so  determined  to 
frustrate  the  narrator. 

Hohenfels  was  listening  to  Fraulein  Panzer  with 
an  attentive,  downcast  expression.  "Poor  fellow," 

125 


126  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

thought  Muriel,  with  a  single  throb  of  compassion; 
and  she  forthwith  made  a  cat's-paw  of  him  in  her 
impatience  to  hear  Stanford  sing. 

"Count,"  she  said  in  an  undertone,  "will  you  play 
something  now?" 

"Certainly,"  he  cried,  springing  up  with  alertness 
and  totally  confusing  his  astonished  godmother. 

"I  think  we  will  go  to  the  music-room,"  said  Mu 
riel,  rising  also.  "Count  von  Hohenfels,  who  has 
consented  to  play,  is  partial  to  the  other  piano. 
Please  remember  your  songs,  Mr.  Stanford." 

The  latter  was  making  a  martyr  of  himself  by  sup 
porting  Frau  von  Berwitz  in  a  conversation  with  the 
deaf  Countess.  Although  Muriel  thought  that  he 
might  have  been  more  attentive  to  her,  she  none  the 
less  admired  his  devotion  to  the  elderly  ladies.  His 
kindness  to  her  pet  "Mime,"  however,  would  have 
atoned  for  more  serious  shortcomings.  With  self 
ish  feline  instinct  the  cat  had  claimed  and  rebelliously 
maintained  a  position  upon  Stanford's  knees. 

"Come,  Mimechen,"  he  said  in  English,  tossing  the 
fluffy  black  creature  up  to  his  shoulder,  "don't  despise 
the  Caucasian.  You  see,  ladies,  he  has  no  race 
prejudice." 

They  all  found  it  pleasanter  in  the  music-room. 
The  broad,  open  doorway  gave  them  the  additional 
enjoyment  of  the  night.  They  gathered  there  to 
watch  the  distant  stars  twinkling  in  the  interspaces 
of  the  leafy  framework,  and  to  inhale  the  sweetness 
of  the  June  roses.  A  tall  lamp  stood  on  the  table  by 
the  piano,  and  a  thick  red  shade  focused  the  tinted 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMERE1 "  127 

light  en  the  keyboard.  The  room  was  full  of  shadow; 
the  profiles  of  the  silent  listeners  showed  darkly  to 
Count  von  Hohenfels,  as  he  let  his  fingers  wander 
dreamily  over  the  keys. 

The  time  seemed  made  for  rhapsodizing.  It  was  a 
night  such  as  Thuringia  sometimes  cedes  to  the  brains 
and  hearts  of  her  lover-poets.  It  spoke  its  mystic 
spell  to  the  player  in  the  first  mellow-toned  response 
of  the  vibrating  wires.  The  day  and  its  trials  were 
gone.  His  spirit  had  grown  light  with  hope,  and 
only  the  sympathetic  appeal  in  his  touch  gave  echo 
to  his  recent  emotions.  The  language  whose  utter 
ance  was  denied  to  his  lips,  sought  expression  through 
the  medium  of  his  fingers,  and  he  knew  that  Muriel 
alone  would  understand  him. 

Hohenfels  was  fond  of  extemporizing,  and  he  had 
found  amusement  in  Muriel's  verbal  interpretation 
of  his  ideas  thus  expressed.  This  form  of  communi 
cation  had,  the  previous  summer,  become  their  favor 
ite  pastime.  Indeed,  aided  by  her  knowledge  of  his 
temperament  and  trend  of  thought,  she  had  become 
so  proficient  that  he,  in  his  ignorance  of  woman's 
wit,  invested  her  with  miraculous  powers. 

"I  cannot  grasp  it!"  he  exclaimed  one  day,  after 
she  had  repeated  to  him  what  he  believed  to  be  the 
actual  words  of  his  thoughts.  "How  do  you  do  it?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Play  for  me!"  he  cried,  springing  up  from  the 
piano ;  I  too  will  try  it." 

"No,"  said  Muriel,  "I  do  not  improvise  well.  I 
have  little  or  no  creative  power  in  music.  Mine  is 


128  '  •  MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

solely  interpretative.  Your  gift  is  inborn.  Let  us 
continue  as  we  have  begun." 

But  her  elucidations  were  given  only  when  alone 
with  him  in  the  music-room.  In  truth  she  approved 
of  pianoforte  improvisations  for  chosen  occasions 
only.  She  had  been  too  often  bored  by  the  hour- 
long  impromptu  fantasies  of  pianists  much  more 
distinguished  than  the  Count — professional  men  of 
genius,  who  gave  such  reminiscent  settings  to  oc 
casional  inspired  measures  that  the  whole  was  simply 
an  infliction.  Liszt  was  the  only  improvisator  she  had 
ever  heard  with  pleasure  in  an  assembly  after  passing 
her  novitiate,  and  that  pleaure  she  ascribed  in  part  to 
his  tactful  brevity.  Hohenfels,  on  the  contrary,  lov 
ing  his  piano  blindly,  made  no  note  of  time  Muriel 
therefore  heard  his  preluding  with  apprehension. 

"What  will  you  play,  Count?"  she  asked,  hoping 
that  he  would  change  his  purpose  out  of  considera 
tion  for  the  musical  culture  of  his  guests. 

He  looked  at  her  an  instant  without  speaking.  "A 
drama,"  he  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 

"A  what?"  called  Fraulein  Panzer,  sharply,  raising 
her  eyeglasses  to  scrutinize  the  face  of  her  embar 
rassed  godson.  "It's  the  wine,"  she  added  in  a  jocu 
lar  way,  and  turned  aside  to  study  the  stars. 

"No,  Xante  Clara!  Before  Heaven,  no!  A  veritable 
drama  in  tone." 

"From  whom?" 

"From  God  or  the  Devil!  I  wish  I  knew  which," 
he  muttered,  as  he  let  his  fingers  again  wander  over 
the  keys.  "I  don't  know,"  he  said  aloud. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  129 

"You  are  too  modest,  Fritz.  Claim  it  openly. 
He  composes  exceedingly  well,"  she  said,  lowering 
her  voice.  "Does  he  not,  Miss  Holme?" 

"Very,"  replied  Muriel,  trying  to  conceal  her  dis 
pleasure  at  Hohenfels'  decision.  He  was  eyeing  her 
uneasily,  but  her  expression  was  lost  to  him  in  the 
gloom. 

The  dialogue  had  aroused  the  curiosity  of  the  group 
at  the  door.  With  misgivings  as  to  his  purpose, 
Muriel  anxiously  noted  the  intentness  with  which 
they  listened  to  the  first  notes  of  Hohenfels'  tonal 
"drama"  floating  out  on  the  quiet  night.  Only  a 
few  measures  were  needed  to  confirm  her  fears.  His 
recital  was  a  history  of  their  acquaintance,  and  so 
vividly  expressed  that  none  could  fail  to  understand. 
Once  she  detected  a  significant  look  passing  be 
tween  Fraulein  Panzer  and  Frau  von  Berwitz;  and, 
later  on,  Rivington  raised  his  questioning  eyes  to  her 
face. 

Muriel  was  mortified  at  her  old  friend's  lack  of 
delicacy  in  thus  openly  parading  his  feelings.  He 
began  to  recall  strains  from  favorite  compositions 
with  which  they  had  beguiled  the  previous  summer, 
whilst  the  underflow  of  passionate  emotion  grew  even 
wilder  and  bolder,  threatening,  at  last,  to  break  its 
bonds  and  pour  triumphantly  forth. 

Again  the  spell  of  the  music  spoke  to  the  per 
turbed  spirit  of  the  player,  and  led  him  into  such  a 
maze  of  soulful  harmonies  that,  carried  beyond  him 
self,  he  abandoned  his  fancy  to  the  eloquence  of  his 
overmastering  love.  It  found  reflection  in  his  face 


130  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI  "t 

and  held  the  listeners  in  breathless  expectation  of  a 
stirring  climax.  Muriel  knew  better,  and  waited  with 
a  throbbing  heart  for  a  brief  diminuendo  and  pause. 

Then  with  a  single  phrase — the  inevitable  question, 
so  full  of  beseeching  tenderness — he  gazed  steadily  at 
Muriel  a  moment  and  rose  from  the  piano.  A  gen 
eral  look  of  surprise  followed  him. 

"Come,  Fritz,  this  is  too  abrupt,"  exclaimed  Frau- 
lein  Panzer,  who  was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 
Like  the  others,  having  merely  comprehended  the 
general  drift  of  his  improvisation,  she  did  not  suffi 
ciently  appreciate  the  unhappy  position  of  Muriel, 
who  had  with  each  moment  grown  more  painfully 
self-conscious.  Fraulein  Panzer,  indeed,  had  been 
not  a  little  amused  by  the  incident,  as  something  novel 
and  quite  clear  to  herself  only.  As  it  occurred  to 
her  that  timely  assistance  might  be  desirable,  she 
added  slyly:  "Give  the  satisfactory  solution  of 
your  harmonies." 

"Perhaps  Miss  Holme  will  do  that?"  responded 
Hohenfels,  rising. 

For  the  moment  Muriel  was  too  stunned  by  his 
audacity  to  speak.  Pride,  however,  over-ruled  her 
outraged  sensibilities.  Though  Hohenfels  had  be 
haved  foolishly,  he  was  an  old  and  faithful  friend, 
and  her  pending  answer  would  determine  their  future 
relations.  As  a  woman  of  tact  she  could  not  do 
else  than  make  light  of  so  trying  a  situation.  What 
ever  the  facts  of  the  case,  the  witnesses  would  regard 
his  attitude  as  one  of  weak  sentimentality;  and  so 
would  he  with  a  return  of  reason.  However,  in  that 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  131 

brief  interval  of  thought  Muriel  had  laid  more  stress 
on  the  manner  than  on  the  wording  of  her  re 
ply. 

"I  could  not  do  that  better,"  she  began,  with  an 
assumption  of  merriment,  rising  briskly  to  her  feet, 
'•than  by  playin&  Mr.  Stanford's  accompani 
ments." 

She  stopped  aghast  at  the  insinuation  in  her  state 
ment.  "I  have  done  enough  solo  work  for  one  day," 
she  added  so  hastily  that  none  could  mistake  her  own 
interpretation  of  the  words. 

That  Hohenfels  was  wounded  by  the  unintentional 
blow  was  natural.  In  her  heart  she  felt  it  a  deserved 
and  wholesome  lesson  for  him.  However,  she  had 
a  part  to  play  until  matters  adjusted  themselves,  and 
she  looked  into  his  blanched  face  without  a  pang  of 
regret. 

"I  have  memorized  the  Mephisto  waltzes,  if  you 
care  to  take  them  to-night,"  she  said,  indicating  some 
sheet  music  on  the  piano,  and  resuming  her  usual 
tone  with  him.  "Meister  has  promised  to  hear  the 
first  one  the  next  time  I  play  for  him.  Perhaps  you 
can  give  me  some  new  ideas  after  looking  it  over. 
It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  hear  Liszt  praise  an  in 
terpretation  which  differs  from  his  own." 

Muriel  was  but  faintly  conscious  of  what  she  said. 
Her  only  desire  was  to  dispose  of  Hohenfels  without 
further  friction,  and  when  she  saw  him,  atfi  last, 
quietly  take  a  seat  on  the  doorstep  and  turn  his  face 
to  the  stars,  she  looked  round  for  Stanford.  He  had 
selected  a  volume  from  a  collection  which  he  had 


132  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

brought   with  him   and   placed  it   on   the    music- 
rest. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  play  for  me,"  he  said; 
"I  make  a  frightful  bungle  of  my  accompaniments.'' 

"You  should  never  have  to  play  them  to  sing  well," 
she  added,  as  she  read  the  composer's  name -on  the 
cover  of  the  book  with  a  brightening  countenance. 

"Then  you  like  Schubert?"  He  spoke  softly,  as 
his  glance  met  her  uplifted  eyes. 

"He  satisfies  me  as  no  other  writer  of  pure  song 
who  has  ever  lived." 

"He  is  my  favorite  also..  What  shall  it  be?"  He 
leaned  over  her  to  open  the  book. 

"Wait!"  exclaimed  Muriel,  taking  it  from  him. 
"I  have  a  fancy  to  see  where  it  will  fall  open.  Then 
I  shall  know  what  you  have  been  singing  to  yourself." 
Balancing  the  bound  edge  on  the  palm  of  her  hand, 
she  watched  the  pages  flutter  apart  and  stop  at  "Am 
Meer." 

"It  was  my  choice,  too!"  cried  Muriel,  forgetting 
the  listening  group  at  the  door  in  her  elation  at  hav 
ing  an  unvoiced  wish  come  true. 

While  putting  the  book  into  place,  she  was  momen 
tarily  conscious  of  Hohenfels'  penetrating  glance, 
without  being  disturbed  by  it.  She  was  thinking  of 
"Am  Meer."  "What  if  he  does  not  sing  well,  or  is 
only  a  weak  lyric  tenor?  I  would  rather  never  hear 
him!  It  would  be  so  horribly  out  of  keeping  with 
the  man  himself." 

Muriel  felt  her  cheeks  burning.  "They  will  think 
it  the  color  from  the  shade,"  she  reassured  herself. 


"MISS    TRAUMERE1"  133 

I  do  hope  I  shall  not  be  disappointed.  I  don't  look 
for  a  great  artistic  treat  from  an  amateur;  only  let 
it  be  in  accord  with  his  intelligence  and  nobility  of 
character."  What  she  did  expect  she  hardly  knew. 
A  vague  unrest  had  seized  her.  She  was  in  sudden 
terror  of  having  an  ideal  spoiled.  Surely,  though, 
Stanford  was  not  the  man  to  make  himself  ridiculous 
by  an  ignoble  exhibition  of  weak  vanity.  The  thought 
gave  her  comfort.  "Of  course  he  won't!"  she  kept 
repeating  to  herself.  "Of  course  he  won't!  But 
why  should  I  work  myself  up  so  about  Mr.  Stan 
ford?"  Muriel  was  somewhat  abashed  by  the  re 
flection.  "My  deplorable  nervousness  again!" 

The  sensuous  charm  of  her  excellent  performance 
in  the  lesson,  was  still  in  the  tips  of  Muriel's  ringers, 
as  they  sought  the  introductory  chords  with  that 
tender  caress  which  true  pianists  intuitively  give 
those  harmonies  most  in  touch  with  their  own  nature. 
It  was  like  a  sympathetic,  spoken  appeal  to  Stanford. 
He  gave  her  a  quick  look  of  response,  but  she  was  in 
tent  upon  the  keyboard,  and  when  she  glanced  up  at 
him,  as  a  signal  for  concerted  action,  he  had  receded 
a  step  and  was  gazing  beyond  the  silent  listeners  into 
the  night. 

Music  is  an  intoxicant  for  certain  temperaments. 
After  the  first  measures  of  "Am  Meer"  Muriel  was 
conscious  only  of  an  ecstatic  thrill,  which  ravished 
her  senses  and  dispelled  doubts,  fears  and  even  rea 
son.  Swayed  by  the  power  of  the  singer,  her  fingers 
moved  over  the  keys  as  in  a  dream.  A  rich,  sonor 
ous  voice,  breathed  forth  so  naturally  as  to  conceal 


T  3  4  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

the  art  which  guided  it,  was  singing  lines  beloved  and 
already  engraved  upon  her  memory: 

Uas  Meer  erglitnzte  weit  hinaus 

Im  letzten  Abendscheine, 
Wir  sassen  am  einsamen  Fischerhaus, 

Wir  sassen  stumm  und  alleine. 

The  absolute  sweetness  and  purity  of  intonation  in 
that  dying  cadence: 

Wir  sassen  stumm  und  alleine, 

melted  into  Muriel's  heart.  The  music  of  her  own 
ringers  fell  as  tenderly  on  the  ear.  Voice  and  piano 
blended  as  one.  With  the  words 

DerNebel  stieg,  dasWasser  schwoll, 
Die  Mowe  flog  hin  und  wieder 

a  dramatic  fibre  vibrated  in  the  swelling  notes  of  the 
singer.  Muriel's  whole  consciousness  seemed  up 
lifted  in  the  crescendo  of  the  music ;  her  body  swayed 
lightly  to  the  rhythm,  and  when  the  lines  sank  into 
quieter  measure: 

Aus  deinen  Augen  liebevoll 
Fielen  die  Thriinen  nieder, 

real  tears  crowded  into  her  eyes.  She  played  on,  un 
mindful  of  the  blurred  page  before  her.  The  notes 
were  rising  from  her  heart  in  response  to  each  utter 
ance  of  the  singer. 

Muriel  was  already  in  that  realm  of  fancy  where 
she  spent  half  her  waking  hours  and  found  her  tru 
est  happiness.  Had  it  ever  before  revealed  to  her 
such  bliss,  such  transport?  Was  not  the  present  a 
reality?  Did  not  the  mists  surround  them?  Was 
not  that  the  North  Sea  breaking  in  foaming  billows  on 
the  broad  sands  at  their  feet,  the  low  eaves  of  the 


'  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI "  13$ 

fisher's  hut  above  them,  limitless  space  about  them, 
and  they  two  alone  in  that  vast  universe.  He  was  at 
her  side;  she  could  feel  his  presence,  hear  his  inspired 
voice.  Listen !  it  is  no  dream.  These  are  his  words : 

Ich  sah  sie  fallen  auf  cieine  Hand, 

Und  bin  auf's  knie  gesunken  ; 
Ich  hab'  sie  aus  deiner  weissen  Hand, 

Die  Thranen  fort  getrunken. 

Seit  jener  Stunde  verzehrt  sich  mein  Leib, 

Die  Seele  stirbt  von  Sehnen  ; 
Mich  hat  das  ungliickselg'e  Weib, 

Verj^iftet  mit  ihren  Thranen. 

Muriel's  heart  was  ready  to  break  with  the  sweet 
sadness  of  that  lingering,  softly-dying  strain.  A  great 
sob  welled  up  in  her  throat,  and  then  the  murmuring 
accompaniment,  too,  was  gone.  A  deathlike  stillness 
oppressed  her.  She  opened  her  eyes  with  a  start. 
They  were  moist,  and  she  could  dimly  discern  the 
far-reaching  shadows  beyond  the  mellow  light  thrown 
over  the  white  keys  of  her  piano.  Suddenly  it  all 
came  back  to  her  where  she  was,  and  that  her  ac 
quaintance  of  two  days,  Tante  Anna's  foster  son 
Carl,  was  standing  at  her  side,  and  had  been  singing. 
And  then  a  great  warmth  enveloped  her  and  made  her 
brain  reel.  What  was  it?  The  fleeting  magic  of  his 
song — or  himself?  Her  heart  answered  with  a  rush 
of  hot  blood,  "Both."  What  madness!  And  yet — • 
why  not?  It  must  have  been  meant  so  from  the  be 
ginning.  Yes,  it  was  her  fate.  It  had  been  ordained 
thus,  and  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  She  had 
not  desired  it.  She  had  rebelled  at  his  coming.  And 
here  he  was  at  her  side.  What  had  he  become  in 


1 36  '  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

those  thirty-six  hours?  Her  world!  Her  all!  For 
the  instant  she  could  think  of  nothing  else!  She 
loved — and  how?  The  beating"  of  her  heart  re 
sounded  in  her  ears;  and  as  she  strove  to  calm  her 
self,  the  ticking  of  the  little  clock  on  the  wall  was  the 
only  sound  that  broke  the  silence  of  the  room. 

A  sudden  rush  of  maidenly  shame  possessed  her. 
"No  one  must  know,"  she  said  tumultuously  to  her 
self.  "How  horrible  if  they  did!"  Muriel  threw  her 
head  proudly  back,  and  slowly  closed  and  opened  her 
eyes  in  the  effort  to  dry  them  without  calling  atten 
tion  to  her  emotion.  As  a  pretext  for  not  speaking, 
she  turned  to  the  index  of  songs  and  ran  her  ringer 
down  the  list.  She  had  missed  it.  She  could  not  see 
distinctly,  and  began  again. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Stanford,  softly,  with  the  tender 
ness  of  Schubert's  inspired  melody  still  in  his  voice. 

"The  'Serenade,' "  she  murmured.  She  had  to  turn 
her  face  in  profile  to  make  him  hear.  His  head  was 
almost  touching  hers,  and  she  felt  his  penetrating 
glance.  A  tear  still  glistened  on  her  eyelash. 

"He  saw  it,"  she  repeated  helplessly  to  herself.  To 
hide  her  confusion,  she  began  a  pianissimo  modula 
tion  from  C  major  to  the  key  of  the  "Serenade" — D 
minor.  "Perhaps  he  will  only  wonder  what  signifi 
cance  'Am  Meer'  has  had  in  my  past  life  that  it  should 
call  forth  the  tears.  Certainly,  he  could  not  surmise 
anything  from  my  manner." 

"I  defy  any  one  to  take  me  unawares  now,"  shg 
added,  as  a  final  support  to  herself. 

When  she  begat?  the  simple  prelude  to  the  "Ser_e> 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  137 

nade,"  the  insidious  charm  in  her  first  touch  of  the! 
white  keys  stole  over  her  own  senses  like  a  celestial 
balm.  The  book  on  the  music-rest  screened  the 
spell-bound  group  at  the  door.  Not  a  soul  had 
so  much  as  stirred.  A  word  would  have  been  to 
them  a  sacrilege.  Muriel  thought  of  them  no  more. 
The  red  light  behind  her  shoulder  seemed  flaming 
from  her  brain,  and,  as  it  grew  brighter  and  brighter, 
she  felt  herself  wafted  into  space  on  billowy  rose- 
scented  clouds.  A  thrilling  presence,  which  she  did 
not  see,  was  near.  Sweet,  tender  strains  lured  them  on 
together;  and  then  his  voice,  so  mellow  and  free,  that 
it  seemed  to  penetrate  and  fill  limitless  space  with  its 
glory,  rose  above  all  like  a  benediction  of  love. 

A  strange,  deep  sadness  breathed  through  the  song. 
Memory  was  travelling  backward  to  America — her 
early  home — and  her  mother.  Her  dear  voice,  now 
silent  forever,  had  sung  these  self-same  words.  It  was 
a  translation  into  the  English  which  had  long  since 
passed  from  Muriel's  mind.  Had  the  dead  past  risen 
to  sanctify  her  love  as  something  sacred,  a  thing  from 
above,  which  divine  Providence  had  foreordained? 
"Thus  it  was  intended  and  always  shall  be."  Her  life, 
with  its  strivings  and  its  sorrows,  had  been  simply  a 
preparation  for  this  new,  great  joy  just  come  to  her. 
Everything  else  faded  before  it.  The  thought  was  suffi 
cient  answer  to  every  question  that  might  arise;  and 
in  the  security  of  that  belief  she  yielded  to  the  pres 
ent  rapture,  for  that,  too,  like  all  things  of  this  world, 
must  end. 

She  drank  in  his  words  until  her  brain  seemed  be- 


138  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

numbed  as  with  wine,  and  when  the  final  tone  died 
slowly,  as  a  vapor  vanishes  in  the  heavens,  she 
remembered  only  the  impassioned  appeal  in  that  last 
line: 

And  my  heart  for  thee  is  yearning, 
Bid  it,  love,  be  still. 

It  voiced  in  its  concentrated  intensity  the  lifelong, 
pent-up  yearnings  of  a  loving  heart.  Was  it  art — or 
was  it  real?  Muriel's  heart  throbbed  madly  as  she 
strove  to  reason;  but  the  music  had  ceased;  once 
more  she  opened  her  eyes  to  actual  being. 

It  all  came  back  to  her  quickly  enough — the  large 
room,  with  its  deep  shadows  where  the  listeners  sat, 
and  the  screen  of  the  friendly  book  which  she  had  not 
once  seen  from  the  beginning.  Nor  had  he,  so  it 
seemed,  for  the  page  had  not  been  turned.  The 
music  had  come  from  both  their  hearts;  and,  yes, 
she  fancied  she  saw  a  tremor  pass  over  Stanford 
where  he  stood,  this  time  at  her  side,  while  his  hand, 
which  rested  on  the  piano,  certainly  did  shake  percep 
tibly.  At  his  show  of  emotion,  Muriel  felt  herself  so 
uplifted  in  spirit  that  she  was  enabled  to  look 
up  at  him  with  that  calm  peace  in  her  eyes  which  be 
trays  nothing  that  passes  within. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  softly,  and  she  gradually 
raised  her  voice  that  the  others  might  hear.  "I  am 
glad  to  find  that  particular  translation  again.  I  was 
trying  to  recall  it  only  the  other  day;  but  I  had  not 
heard  it  since  my  early  childhood,  and  it  had  gone, 
all  but  the  first  few  lines." 

Stanford  was  regarding  her  with  searching  inten- 


"MISS     TRAUMEREP  139 

sity,  and  as  she  spoke  she  observed  the  eloquence  of 
his  dilating  pupils  changing — fading,  as  if  forced 
swiftly  back  out  of  sight  in  waves  of  lightening  color 
until  the  last  flame  flickered — went  out — and  once 
more  he  wore  merely  the  frank,  kindly  expression 
which  seemed  a  reflection  of  the  man's  great,  sunny 
nature. 

"I  will  write  them  down  for  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
husky  voice,  so  unlike  that  of  the  inspired  singer 
who  had  held  them  entranced,  that  Fraulein  Panzer's 
quick  ear  remarked  the  change. 

"You  have  wearied  your  voice,"  she  said,  with  a 
sympathetic,  maternal  sort  of  interest. 

Stanford  gave  a  peculiar  smile,  Muriel  thought, 
and  his  voice  was  as  firm  and  as  clear  as  a  bell  in  his 
evasive  reply:  "I  have  not  sung  before  since  leaving 
America." 

"Write  the  translation  down  for  me,"  she  repeated 
to  herself.  "Every  word  of  that  song  is  inscribed  on 
my  heart!" 

Rivington  had  pushed  his  chair  back  to  make  room 
for  Stanford,  who  advanced  as  if  to  join  the  group,  and 
Muriel  observed  that  it  would  give  him  a  view  of  her 
profile  as  she  sat  at  the  piano. 

"No  more  music,  then,  to-night,"  she  reflected, 
with  resignation,  and  she  rose  from  the  instrument. 
It  was  growing  late  for  early-to-bed  Weimar,  and 
the  guests  prepared  to  go.  Muriel  followed  them 
into  the  garden,  for,  as  Gretchen  had  brought  wraps 
and  hats  from  the  front  of  the  house,  they  were  to  take 
the  nearer  way  home  by  the  rear  exit. 


140  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Good-night,"  said  Hohenfels,  in  his  best  officer's 
manner,  but  he  held  Muriel's  hand  as  in  a  last  fare 
well. 

"Good-night,"  she  answered,  startled  out  of  her 
self.  A  wave  of  compassion  for  her  lover-friend  min 
gled  with  the  memory  of  her  old  regard  for  him. 
"Good-night,"  she  repeated,  with  the  friendly  intona 
tion  which  he  knew  so  well,  and,  looking  up  in  the 
darkness  with  an  animated  smile,  she  gave  him  a 
warm,  quick  hand  pressure  and  spoke  again  of  the 
"Mephisto"  waltz. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

After  their  guests  had  reached  the  street,  Frau  von 
Berwitz  and  Muriel  stood  by  the  iron  railing  to  call  a 
final  "good-night,"  and  to  wait  for  Stanford,  who  had 
gone  down  to  lock  the  door  behind  them.  Rejoining 
the  ladies  on  the  terrace,  he  exclaimed  impulsively : 

"It  is  not  bedtime,  is  it,  Xante  Anna?" 

"Why  no,  my  child,  if  you  do  not  wish  it.  There!" 
The  matron  threw  one  arm  about  his  neck  and  drew 
his  head  down  to  kiss  him,  with  a  loud  smack,  first  on 
one  cheek  and  then  on  the  other. 

"And  there !  That,  dear  boy,  is  for  those  two  songs. 
They  went  to  my  heart.  Shall  we  sit  here?" 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Stanford,"  said  Muriel  mus 
ingly,  as  the  three  sat  down  on  some  settles  under  the 
trees,  "since  hearing  you,  I  have  been  wondering  how 
you  could  have  resisted  the  temptations  to  an  operatic 
career." 

"Possibly  because  they  came  too  late,"  replied  Stan 
ford,  without  a  trace  of  regret  at  what  might  have 
been.  "The  debates  in  our  college  societies  had  fos 
tered  my  taste  for  speechifying,  and  I  did  not  begin 
the  cultivation  of  my  singing  voice  until  after  I  grad 
uated." 

"But  were  you  never  tempted  to  make  it  your  voca 
tion  in  life?" 

"No — it  was  hardly  a  temptation;  perhaps  a  mere 

pleasurable  thought  of  what  I  might  do,  if  I  would. 

141 


H2  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

I  love  to  sing  for — my  friends  and — myself,  and  I  am 
sufficiently  desirous  of  doing  it  well  to  give  all  the 
time  I  can  to  study  and  practice." 

"I  am  surprised,  though,  that  some  enterprising 
impresario  has  not  persuaded  you,"  said  Muriel,  ten 
tatively. 

"I  have  had  offers,"  continued  Stanford,  "but  not 
till  I  was  already  more  deeply  interested  in  other 
work." 

"But  only  think  of  the  mission  of  music  to  hu 
manity — of  the  sermon  in  a  song — when  one  is  gifted 
with  a  voice,"  persevered  Muriel,  inwardly  delighted 
with  his  statements. 

"Very  true;  but  while  I  might  move  some  few 
hearts  to  better  deeds  by  my  music,  I  find  more  in 
spiration  in  haranguing  an  audience.  It  is  more  ex 
hilarating  to  watch  a  sea  of  faces  change  expression, 
sway  to  your  will,  and  to  feel  that  it  is  all  so  much  to 
wards  the  advancement  of  a  cause  which  men  of  all 
time  and  every  country  have  held  first  in  their  hearts ; 
and,  then,  afterwards — afterwards — they  don't  treat 
one  like  a  tenor." 

"The  women,  you  mean?  I  suppose  there  is  no  rea 
son  why  a  tenor  should  not  have  intellect,"  said  Mu 
riel,  creating  a  laugh  by  her  seriousness;  "but  they 
certainly  do  not  treat  him  as  if  he  had  one." 

"It  is  precisely  that  which  makes  a  manly  man 
shrink  from  singing  professionally,"  interjected  Stan 
ford,  warmly.  "He  too  often  feels  the  truth  of  your 
statement." 

Muriel  felt  a  benumbing  chill  creeping  over  her. 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  143 

Though  convinced'  that  no  one  had  read  her  sec 
ret,  still  his  last  remark  struck  with  pain  to  her 
heart. 

"There  never  is  but  one  woman  who  can  see  all  that 
is  good  in  a  man,  and  that  one  ought  to  be  his  wife," 
she  remarked  to  herself,  philosophically.  "The  world 
seldom  sees  him  through  her  eyes,  but  I  believe  she 
is  happier  when  it  may." 

Again  a  warm  flush  spread  to  her  temples,  and 
dreams  of  conquest  for  him  in  her  narrow  circle  in 
Weimar  began  to  occupy  her  mind.  Before  all,  he 
must  meet  the  Master;  and  then  be  guided  to  the 
various  haunts  of  the  jovial  Lisztianer.  "He  will 
think  the  more  of  me  for  it,"  she  thought,  "and  how 
it  will  unite  our  interests." 

Her  purpose  found  unexpected  introduction 
through  Frau  von  Berwitz.  "Surely,"  said  the  matron, 
nodding  in  the  direction  of  the  Court  Gardens,  "no 
tenor  ever  received  the  homage  tendered  by  both 
men  and  women  to  our  own  Liszt." 

"Do  you  know  the  Master?"  Muriel  asked  Stanford, 
with  sudden  animation. 

"Not  personally,  though  I  once  had  some  conver 
sation  with  him,"  he  replied,  with  a  reminiscent  smile. 
"It  was  long  ago,  when  I  first  came  to  Weimar.  Liszt 
one  day  visited  our  school.  He  stopped  me  as  I  was 
passing  him  and  asked  my  name.  'Charles  Roland 
Stanford,'  I  said,  looking  him  fearlessly  in  the  face. 
I  was  a  wee  bit  of  a  chap  then — not  over  seven  or 
eight — and  he  tall,  straight,  and  at  the  zenith  of  his 
fame. 


144  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"  'Ah !  a  little  Englishman,'  he  replied,  patting  my 
shoulder. 

"'No,  Meister;  an  American,'  I  said,  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  all  over  the  room. 

"  'And  you  have  come  so  far  over  the  great  ocean?' 
he  exclaimed,  opening  his  eyes  very  wide  to  impress 
me  with  the  distance. 

"  'Yes,  Meister.  Papa  brought  me  to  Tante  Anna 
von  Berwitz  because  Mamma  is  dead.'  Don't  you  re 
call  it,  Tante  Anna? 

"Well,"  continued  Stanford,  "I  remember  he  mut 
tered  'dear  child/  and  let  me  go,  with  a  pat  on  my 
head.  Shortly  after  that  he  went  to  Rome,  and  when 
he  returned,  several  years  later,  I  was  a  big  boy;  but 
Tante  Anna  had  me  doff  my  hat  to  him,  as  to  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Grand  Ducal  family,  when  I  passed  him  on 
the  street." 

"You  should  know  him,"  said  Muriel. 

"It  would,  certainly,  be  a  great  pleasure." 

"To  him,  also,"  she  continued.  "He  would  enjoy 
your  singing." 

"Oh! — do  you  think  so?"  said  Stanford,  with  un 
affected  modesty. 

"Of  course,"  exclaimed  Muriel,  surprised  into  ex 
pressing,  in  her  tone,  a  higher  estimate  of  his  vocal 
powers  than  she  might  have  voluntarily  conceded. 
"You  will  be  glad  to  have  sung  for  him.  He  is  so 
appreciative  of  merit " 

"However  crude." 

"Exactly,"  responded  Muriel,  appreciatively.  "Your 
art  redeems  you  from  such  an  imputation,  however. 


«MISS     TRAUMEREI"  145 

Now,  seriously,  would  you  like  to  meet  him  socially?" 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  exclaimed  Stanford,  with 
undisguised  pleasure. 

"Then  I  will  see  him  about  it — to-morrow,  if  he  is 
receiving,"  she  said,  and  she  felt  an  impatient  impulse 
to  go  at  once  to  the  Royal  Gardens  to  secure  the  as 
surance  of  his  welcome  there.  The  morrow  seemed 
so  far  off.  Then,  when  Stanford  expressed  thanks  for 
the  promised  pleasure,  her  every  nerve  tingled  with 
delight  that  he  should  be,  in  any  sense,  dependent  on 
her. 

"I  assure  you,  Carl,"  observed  Frau  von  Berwitz, 
who  was  evidently  much  gratified,  "it  is  the  only  pos 
sible  way  to  meet  him  now.  The  old  gentleman 
rarely  goes  anywhere,  save  to  Court  and  to  the  Frau- 
leins  Stahr  on  Sunday  afternoons  for  music;  and  as 
for  an  invitation  to  his  house — very  few  can  obtain 
even  that  for  another." 

"And  for  the  best  of  reasons,"  interposed  Muriel. 
"So  few  really  know  him  thoroughly.  His  greatness 
is  the  obstacle  to  many  who  have  the  entr'e'e  to  his 
salon,  and  they  hamper  themselves  so  with  affecta 
tions  or  silence  that,  personally,  they  never  penetrate 
the  polished  reserve  of  the  courtier.  You  will  note 
how  few  have  the  courage  to  speak  to  him  unbidden, 
even  in  the  lesson.  Those  who  do  are  invariably  the 
older  or  the  very  young,  naive  first-year  pupils,  and  it 
is  to  them  that  he  addresses  all  his  remarks.  Only 
those  whom  he  finds  companionable,  and  who  have 
acquired  ease  of  speech  and  movement  in  his  presence, 
ever  come  to  know  the  true  greatness  of  the  man.'* 


H  6  <  'MISS     TRA  U MERE  I " 

"And  how  about  the  old  sophism  that  'a  man  is  a 
hero  to  everybody  but  his  valet'?" 

"Oh,  I  can  assure  you,"  continued  Muriel,  "Mischka 
is  the  most  ardent  hero-worshipper  at  the  Royal  Gar 
dens.  He  seems  to  think  his  a  sacred  trust,  and  Pau 
line's  regard  for  'Herr  Doctor'  is  positively  touching. 
She  has  been  with  him  these  thirty  years;  first  as 
housemaid  at  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  when  he 
went  to  live  at  the  Altenburg  in  such  grand  style  back 
in  forty-seven ;  and,  later,  as  housekeeper  of  the  simple 
apartments  at  the  Royal  Gardens.  I  don't  know  what 
he  would  do  without  her.  Were  he  a  babe  she  could 
not  care  for  him  more  tenderly. 

"Yes,"  she  added,  "the  loyalty  and  unaffected  devo 
tion  of  all  those  who  come  in  close  contact  with  the 
dear  old  Master  speak  the  most  eloquent  praise  of  him 
as  a  man." 

They  still  lingered  on  the  terrace  in  rapt  enjoyment 
of  the  still  night,  but  at  last  Frau  von  Berwitz  made 
a  move  to  depart. 

"Come,  dear  children ;  it's  sacrilege  to  stir,  I  know, 
but  the  morrow  is  almost  here,  and — Muriel  must  rec 
ognize  limitations  to  her  endurance." 

The  moon  had  cleared  the  treetops  in  the  adjacent 
garden,  and  revealed  the  vine-grown  roof  and  upper 
windows  of  the  old  mansion  in  a  picturesque  radiance. 
With  uplifted  eyes  Stanford  began  to  sing  under  his 
breath  the  German  lines  of  the  'Serenade': 

Leise  flehen  meine  Lieder 
Durch  die  Nacht  zu  dip, 

"That  sounds  natural,"  interjected  Frau  von  Ber- 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  147 

witz,  tapping  her  approval  against  his  arm,  on  which 
she  leaned. 

"Surely,  Xante,"  he  replied,  interrupting  his  song, 
"you  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  would  sing  Eng 
lish  to  such  a  gable  as  that?" 

"It  wouldn't  be  fitting,  would  it?"  she  said,  halting 
to  note  the  typical  points  of  the  archaic  dwelling. 
"Yet,  why  not?"  she  added,  ingenuously,  forgetful  of 
the  text  to  the  "Serenade."  "Your  countrywoman  oc 
cupies  those  rooms." 

Muriel  preceded  them  to  the  inner  court,  feigning 
not  to  have  heard  the  dialogue,  but  listening  with 
quickened  heart-beats  for  his  answer;  and  when  he 
stopped  to  close  and  bolt  the  heavy  iron  door,  she 
slackened  her  steps  until  they  again  followed. 

She  hoped,  with  a  tendency  to  conviction,  that 
some  suggestion  of  herself,  perhaps  unacknowledged 
in  thought,  had  unconsciously  brought  the  music  to 
his  lips. 

She  lifted  her  face  to  the  sky,  and  the  glory  of  the 
starlight  seemed  to  enter  and  expand  her  soul,  and  to 
guide  her  footsteps  over  the  stairway,  now  in  dark 
ness. 

"Happy  Gretchen,"  she  murmured,  at  this  reminder 
of  the  maid's  negligence,  and  with  a  new  considera 
tion  for  the  pair  of  sweethearts  down  in  the  great 
arch  of  the  facade. 

The  entry  door  was  unlatched.  She  pushed  it  open, 
and,  catching  up  a  lighted  lamp,  went  back  to  meet 
the  others.  Stanford  took  it  from  her,  and  then  light 
ing  her  own  lamp,  he  handed  it  to  her  at  the  entrance 


H&  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

to  the  cloister,  as  Frau  von  Berwitz  went  to  summon 
Gretchen. 

"I  will  watch  you  to  the  end,"  he  said,  his  words 
conveying  a  caress.  "It  must  be  dreary  to  pass  all 
those  old  portraits  and  mysterious  doors." 

"Good-night,"  she  called  over  the  threshold  of  her 
ante-room. 

"Good-night,"  he  answered  in  the  shadowy  distance, 
and  she  heard  the  far-away  click  of  a  lock  after  her 
door  was  closed.  Muriel  turned  the  lamp  low,  and, 
leaving  it  on  the  stand  without,  ascended  the  two 
steps  before  her  bedchamber.  The  moonlight  was 
shimmering  through  the  open  windows  across  the 
floor  and  the  white  pillows  of  her  couch.  Impulsively 
she  threw  herself  on  the  soft  silken  counterpane  to 
think  it  all  over  again  and  again,  until  blinded  by 
happy  tears,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  to  hear  the  tender 
refrain  of  his  last  words,  "good-night." 

The  sweet  breath  of  roses  stole  into  her  dream  and 
touched  her  face  with  dewy  freshness.  In  luxurious 
indolence  Muriel  half-opened  her  eyes,  only  to  close 
them  again  and  spring  suddenly  upright  with  a  star 
tled  gasp.  The  sun  was  shining  full  in  her  face.  She 
looked  down  at  the  rumpled  folds  of  her  dress  and 
turned  to  catch  the  gleam  of  the  pale  yellow  light  in 
the  ante-room.  A  childish  treble,  rising  in  subdued 
monotone  from  the  garden  below,  was  abruptly  si 
lenced  by  seven  reverberating  strokes  of  the  clock  in 
the  castle  tower.  Then  the  soft  murmur  went  on,  and 
the  day  was  begun. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

The  daily  life  at  the  Court  Gardens  moved  in  ac 
cordance  with  a  special  code  which  had  been  evolved 
by  the  necessities  of  a  phenomenal  career. 

Mischka,  therefore,  experienced  at  first  much  diffi 
culty  in  adjusting-  his  own  to  Liszt's  division  of  the 
hours  of  day  and  night.  Although  an  eighteen 
months'  apprenticeship  served  to  insure  his  response 
to  the  alarm  clock,  he  was,  nevertheless,  not  always 
awake  when  its  insistent  whirr  brought  him,  at  half- 
past  three,  to  his  feet. 

On  such  occasions  his  somnambulistic  entrance 
into  the  bedchamber  of  so  light  a  sleeper  as  Liszt 
served  the  original  purpose,  and  frequently  resulted,  it 
is  averred,  in  a  very  conscious  exit. 

As  usual,  after  a  protracted  absence,  the  Master, 
upon  returning  from  Aachen,  had  found  himself  bur 
dened  with  the  duty  of  attending  to  a  voluminous 
correspondence,  which  the  considerable  assistance  of 
his  intimate  friend,  Herr  Hofrath  Gille  (of  Jena),  and 
Mischka  had  but  just  enabled  him  to  regulate.  Also, 
his  Leipzig  music  publisher  had  become  clamorous 
for  fresh  copy.  His  ambitious  spirit  being  indifferent, 
under  this  pressure,  to  the  consideration  due  to  infirm 
age,  he  had  ordered  Mischka  to  arouse  him  at  three 
o'clock.  Thus,  with  no  other  sustenance  than  the  usual 
potations  of  brandy  and  water,  he  had  almost  com 
pleted  a  portion  of  his  work,  when  Herr  von  Ilm- 


149 


150  <  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

stedt    came,    a    half-hour    early,    as    escort    to    six 
o'clock  mass. 

The  Alice  gate  was  locked.  He  lingered  in  the 
bright  sunshine  on  the  promenade  to  trace  the  faint 
silhouette  of  the  Master's  head  which  the  artificial 
light  in  the  salon  cast  against  the  drawn  blind  by  the 
writing-desk,  until  Pauline,  who  lodged  near  at  hand, 
came  to  open  the  house  and  rewake  Mischka.  Ilm- 
stedt  disposed  himself  on  a  trunk  in  the  ante-room 
to  conduct  his  habitual  inquiry  into  the  household  af 
fairs,  whilst  the  valet  polished  Liszt's  shoes  and 
brushed  his  street  garb.  To  gratify  Ilmstedt's  curi 
osity  about  the  new  composition,  Mischka,  when  he 
went  'to  assist  the  Master  at  his  hasty  toilet,  sent  the 
eager  pupil  into  the  salon. 

Ilmstedt,  quite  overcome  at  this  privilege,  never 
knew  how  he  crossed  the  room,  but,  as  he  gazed  at 
the  still  wet  notes,  he  was  consumed  with  desire  to 
possess  this  creation  of  Liszt's.  His  very  soul  seemed 
a  fair  price,  until  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  barter 
could  be  made  for  less. 

Fearful  of  detection  at  the  desk,  he  sauntered  to 
wards  the  piano,  examining  the  contents  of  his  purse 
and  mentally  scheduling  some  important  points. 

"6  a.  m.  Mass. 

"7  a.  m.  Return.  Meister  breakfasts  on  coffee,  rolls 
and  eggs. 

"7:30  a.  m.  Meister  lies  down  to  nap. 

"9:30  a.  m.  Meister  rises  and  tries  over  new  piece 
at  piano. 

"9:45  a.  m.  Meister  rewrites  it  for  publisher. 


'  'MISS     TRAUMEREI "  151 

"10:45  a.  m-  Meister  throws  my  copy — the  original! 
— mine! — mine! — mine! — my  own  copy  forevermore 
— into  the  waste-basket." 

Supplement. 

"10:45  to  IT  a.  m-  I — m  ante-room.  Servitor  on 
guard — gold  in  one  hand;  my  manuscript  in  the 
other." 

*     *     # 

A  desultory  fingering  of  the  keyboard  had  just 
ceased  when  Mischka,  on  the  stroke  of  twelve,  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  salon  to  announce  "Fraulein 
Holme." 

Herr  Arthur  rose  from  the  piano  to  take  leave. 
Three  compositions  which  he  had  orchestrated  during 
the  Master's  absence  in  Aachen  stood  on  the  music- 
rest. 

"Really  masterful,"  cried  Liszt,  enthusiastically,  call 
ing  Muriel's  attention  to  them.  "Indeed,  I  do  not  be 
lieve  that  Richard  Wagner  could  have  made  them 
more  effective." 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  concluded,  "it  is  all  deserved.  Adieu, 
dear  Arthur." 

"I  fear  I  disturb  you,  Meister,"  began  Muriel  when 
they  were  alone.  "I  hesitated  about  allowing  Mischka 
to  request  an  audience  for  me,  when  he  said  you  were 
not  at  leisure  before  dinner;  but  I  had  a 

"An  important  something  to  discuss  with  the  old 
Meister,"  he  interposed.  "Well,  you  need  not  have 
done  that,  for,  as  Don  Carlos  said  to  the  Marquis  of 
Posa,  'My  doors  are  open  to  you.  Enter  freely  at 
all  times.' " 


152           .          "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"How  generous,  Meister.  I  hope,  though,  that  I  do 
not  strain  my  welcome  if  I  come  now  to  beg  a  favor." 

Liszt  answered  her  anxious  expression  with  a  burst 
of  genuine  mirth.  "Come,"  he  said,  proffering  a 
chair,  "be  seated." 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you,  dear  Meister.  Otherwise 
I  should  detain  you  too  long.  I  only  wished  to  ask 
permission  to  bring  into  the  lesson  to-morrow  a 
countryman  of  mine  who  is  here  visiting  Frau  von 
Berwitz.  It  would  give  him  unspeakable  pleasure, 
and — make  me  very  happy." 

"Of  course!  Of  course!  Is  that  all?"  he  inter 
jected  continually,  with  the  utmost  indulgence  in  his 
voice.  "Of  course.  Friends  of  yours  will  always  be 
welcome  at  the  Royal  Gardens.  I  am  happy  to  grant 
you  any  request,"  he  continued,  with  a  gentle  defer 
ence  which  bespoke  his  true  estimate  of  his  pupil. 
"In  fact,  you  yourself  are  always  so  thoughtful  and 
considerate  of  others,  that  I  am  doubly  happy  to  be 
able  to  do  you  a  favor." 

Muriel  caught  her  breath.  "Oh,  Meister!"  she 
gasped,  curbing  an  impulse  to  embrace  him  and  then 
rush  madly  from  the  room.  Her  crimson  cheeks 
and  bedewed  eyes,  however,  proclaimed  the  thanks 
which  she  could  not  steady  her  voice  to  speak. 

"He — my  countryman — Mr.  Stanford,"  she  fal 
tered  at  last,  "has  a  very  beautiful  tenor  voice,  and 
sings  Schubert  most  artistically." 

"So?"  exclaimed  Liszt,  employing  a  monosyllable 
of  elastic  functions  in  every-day  German.  "Perhaps 
he  will  favor  us  to-morrow.  Ah!  nein,"  he  added 


'  'MISS     TRA  U MERE  I "  153 

hastily,  with  an  eloquent  gesture  and  a  quick  change 
of  expression.  "Better  still.  Come  with  him  this 
afternoon  at  four.  Kompel's  string  quartette  plays. 
Yet,"  he  said  reflectively,  "I  have  bidden  only  the 
gentlemen  of  my  class.  Ah!  Pray  ask  Frau  von 
Berwitz  to  honor  me  by  her  presence.  No;  I  will 
write  her." 

He  had  crossed  the  room  and  taken  up  his 
pen  before  Muriel  could  convince  him  that  it  was  un 
necessary. 

"Very  well,  then,  if  you  will  kindly  deliver  my  mes 
sage." 

"Now,  dear  master,  I  shall  no  longer  keep  you 
from  your  work,"  she  said,  indicating  the  fresh  manu 
script  before  him. 

•"Oh,  no,  no,  no.  That  is  ready  for  the  publisher. 
One  moment!"  he  exclaimed,  with  sudden  thought, 
beginning  to  grope  among  sundry  papers  bearing, 
in  his  own  hand,  the  symbols  of  his  art ;  and  he  mused 
aloud:  "A  few  alterations  and  it  will  be  as  good  as 
the  second.  No?"  Wheeling  about  he  peered  into 
the  waste  basket.  It  had  been  emptied  a  half-hour 
before.  Again  he  scanned  the  papers.  "That  is 
strange!  Humph!" 

Muriel  was  too  familiar  with  present  conditions 
not  to  know  the  cause  of  his  vexation  when  she  saw 
his  resigned  glance  towards  the  ante-room.  Then 
she  remembered  having  seen  Ilmstedt  leave  the 
house  as  she  came  in  through  the  rustic  gate,  joy 
ously  intent  upon  something  which  he  buttoned  in 
his  coat  before  going  out  by  the  Alice. 


1 54  '  'MISS     TRAUMEREI " 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Master,  yielding  to  his  love 
of  harmony  in  the  household,  "I  will  give  you  the 
printed  copy  later.  It  will  look  better  than  my  pen 
manship." 

Muriel  was  glad  that  the  latter  thought  amused 
him,  for,  just  because  of  his  open-handed  generosity, 
she  felt  his  disappointment  more  keenly  than  her 
own.  Furthermore,  she  believed  the  incident  would 
incite  him  shortly  to  the  gift  of  a  still  more  precious 
manuscript.  It  never  occurred  to  her  to  censure 
Ilmstedt,  were  he  the  culprit,  for  aught  than  undue 
haste  in  his  transaction.  Otherwise  his  method 
of  collecting  souvenirs  was  a  tradition  of  the  Royal 
Gardens. 

Sunshine  only  found  place  in  Muriel's  heart  on 
the  homeward  way.  The  old  park  presented  land 
scapes  of  hitherto  unknown  beauty  in  its  gentle  un 
dulations  to  the  singing  waters  of  the  Ilm.  Even 
the  noisome  cries  of  the  peafowls  on  the  lawns  fell 
as  music  on  her  ears,  though  sweeter  still  came,  fur 
ther  on  a  human  chorus  of  treble  voices  from  a 
leaf-embowered  playground.  Involuntarily  she  halted 
to  smile  at  the  little  urchins  tumbling  about  in  bliss 
ful  disregard  of  soiled  frocks  and  dirty  faces;  but 
only  an  instant,  for  withal,  the  old  mansion  seemed 
at  that,  moment  the  one  haven  in  the  world  most  to  be 
desired.  One  little  man,  feeling  a  soft  hand  touch  his 
tangled  locks,  slowrly  turned  in  grave  surprise  to  find 
its  owner  vanishing  in  the  shrubbery. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  Weimar  experience  Muriel 
passed  lightly  over  the  paving  between  the  library 


'  'MISS     TEA  UMEREI "  155 

and  the  palace,  unmindful  of  its  furrowed  edge.  Nor 
did  she  observe  the  sentinel  before  the  guard-house 
until,  rounding  his  hands  above  his  mouth,  he  con 
centrated  his  lung  power  in  a  prolonged  yell  and 
startled  her  out  of  her  serenity. 

Like  so  many  Jacks-in-the-box  a  handful  of  sol 
diers  sprang  into  sight  and  formed  line.  A  succes 
sion  of  inarticulate  energetic  orders  from  the  com-* 
manding  sergeant  caused  them  to  move  about 
as  briskly  as  if  they  were  controlled  by  electricity.  A 
snare  drum  rattled  forth  a  stirring  salute  as  a  royal 
carriage,  dashing  through  the  grand  gateway  from 
the  palace  court,  rumbled  across  the  oblong  that  Mu 
riel  had  just  quitted.  However,  the  interior  being 
unoccupied,  the  men  smiled  perceptibly  at  an  order 
to  disperse,  and  then  Muriel  noted  their  resemblance 
to  animate  beings.  In  fact,  the  sentinel  and  three 
others  proved  to  be  old  acquaintances — young  noble 
men  serving  their  twelvemonth  as  avantageurs  be 
fore  donning  a  lieutenant's  epaulets.  One  had  evi 
dently  been  caught  napping,  for  his  comrades  laugh 
ingly  pointed  to  his  reversed  helmet  as  they  made  sal 
utation  and  retreated  to  their  lounging-place  behind 
the  columns  of  the  portico. 

The  uniforms  recalled  Count  von  Hohenfels. 
How  the  past  had  receded  before  her  new-born  hap 
piness!  "It  was  only  last  night,"  she  mused,  "and 
yet — so  long  ago."  Sorrow  for  the  hopelessness  of 
his  affection  filled  her  heart. 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  cried  in  despair;  reverting 
then,  quite  naturally  to  thought  of  Stanford — "We 


156  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

must  practice  together  from  now  until  dinner,  if  he  is 
to  sing-  this  afternoon,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  surge 
of  joy  which  obliterated  memory.  "To  think  of  it! 
His  glorious  voice  for  one  hour  all  to  myself," 

Pulsating  with  emotion,  she  entered  the  deep-cut 
street.  As  if  in  response  to  the  first  echoes  of  her 
tread,  a  shadow  from  the  terrace  fell  suddenly  across 
the  way.  Looking  up  she  met  Stanford's  inquiring 
eyes.  He  smiled  and  disappeared,  and  she  knew  he 
would  let  her  in  at  the  street  door. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"I  and  Liszt,"  laboriously  croaked  an  asthmatic 
voice,  "have  been  acquainted  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  We  have  travelled  together  several  seasons 
and  visited  the  whole  of  Europe.  Ah!  we  did  have 
some  notable  experiences — I  and  Liszt." 

Rivington  tarried  a  moment,  an  appreciative  lis 
tener,  behind  the  shrubbery,  then,  softly  closing  the 
Alice  gate,  he  turned  into  the  area  before  the  house  at 
the  Royal  Gardens.  An  adipose,  beery-visaged  sep 
tuagenarian  was  propped  up  on  an  end  of  the  long 
settle  under  the  windows.  He  winked  sagely  with 
one  eye  at  Erau  von  Berwitz,  Muriel  and  Stanford 
as  he  wheezed  out:  "Then  he  was  tall,  spare  and 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  had  an  eye  like  an  eagle's. 

Well,  one  night  I  and  Liszt  were  in "  Muriel 

interrupted  him  to  present  Rivington.  Then  Pro 
fessor  Schmidt  began  anew: 

"As  I  was  saying,  one  night  I  and  Liszt  were  in 
Si " 

"Good  afternoon,  ladies,"  cried  a  fresh,  cheery 
voice,  breaking  into  the  impending  anecdote,  "Good- 
day,  Schmidt."  The  celebrated  leader  of  the  quar 
tette,  followed  by  his  associates,  passed  by  with  a 
friendly  bow  and  went  into  the  house. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  repeated  the  narrator,  "one 
night  I  and  Liszt  were  in  a  Silesian  city,  and  the  con- 


158  '  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

cert  was,  as  usual,  crowded,  and  people  turned  away 
from  the  doors.  Of  course  it  was  an  ovation  from 
A  to  Z,  and  I  and  Liszt — 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  called  Mischka  from  a 
salon  window,  "Herr  Doctor  has  risen." 

There  was  a  general  movement  towards  the  house. 
Frau  von  Berwitz,  preceding  with  Professor  Schmidt, 
was  overheard  saying,  "You  were  about  to  relate 
an  anecdote  of  your  tours  with  the1  Master,  Herr 
Professor." 

''Yes — yes,"  he  responded,  punctuating  each  word 
with  file-like  respirations.  "To  begin  again,  I  and 
Liszt— 

The  three  young  people  fell  behind  to  vent  their 
mirth  at  this  extraordinary  individual,  who  prefaced 
everything  with  "I  and  Liszt." 

"He  always  does  it,"  exclaimed  Muriel.  "Long 
ago  he  was  Liszt's  business  manager,  or  something 
of  the  sort;  but  now  he  draws  a  pension  as  a  super 
annuated  member  of  the  Grand  Ducal  orchestra, 
He  belonged  to  the  wind  instruments,  I  believe." 

Their  subdued  laughter  faintly  mingled  with  the 
sounds  of  a  good-humored  strife  within.  In  the 
open  door  to  the  cellar,  an  irrepressible  German  youth, 
known  to  his  colleagues  as  "Emil,"  was  struggling 
with  the  housekeeper  for  the  possession  of  a  quart 
bottle  of  champagne. 

"Ah,  let  me  go,  you  bad  boy." 

"Now,  Pauline — dear  Pauline,"  he  pleaded,  his 
eyes  sparkling  with  mischief,  as  he  tugged  at  the  bot 
tle,  "let  loose." 


'  'MISS     TRAUMEREI "  159 

"To  your  health,  Pauline,"  cried  a  gay  comrade, 
coming  from  the  kitchen  with  a  glass  of  effervescing 
wine,  which  he  impudently  waved  before  her  eyes  and 
then  sipped  leisurely  as  she  scolded  him  with  a 
smile  on  her  lips. 

"Ach!  du  lieber  Himmel!  you  have  opened  a  sec 
ond  bottle!  Let  go,  you  wicked  child."  Freeing 
herself  from  Emil's  clutches,  she  locked  the  cellar 
door  and  dropped  the  key  into  her  pocket. 

"Ach!  Missy,"  she  exclaimed,  espying  Muriel,  as 
she  "wrapped  the  bottle  securely  in  her  apron  on  the 
way  to  the  kitchen.  "Only  see,  these  unruly  boys  are 
teasing  me,  as  usual.  There  is  no  getting  rid  of 
them." 

"Rid  of  us?  Now  that  is  good,"  retorted  Emil 
saucily.  "You  would  not  be  rid  of  us,  dearest  Pau 
line,  for  anything  in  the  world." 

'For  reply  she  sprang  across  the  kitchen  threshold 
and,  slamming  the  door  behind  her,  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock. 

"Herr  Emil  is  right,"  said  Muriel,  as  they  continued 
their  way  up.  "Those  young  fellows  tease  her  con 
tinually,  but  having  always  had  their  kind  to  deal 
with  when  the  Master  is  here,  she  has  become  quite 
attached  to — or  better  said,  accustomed  to  them." 

The  members  of  the  quartette  were  grouping  them 
selves  in  the  centre  of  the  dining-room  as  Frau  von 
Berwitz  entered  in  advance  of  those  crowding  into 
the  ante-chamber.  Instantly  Liszt  turned  from  the 
players  to  receive  her. 

"Madame,  I  am  prcud  to  see  you  here,"  he  said, 


1 60  '  'MISS     TRAUMEREI " 

offering  both  hands  and  touching  her  forehead  lightly 
with  his  lips. 

"Ah,  America!"  he  ejaculated,  with  a  similar  greet 
ing  for  Muriel.  The  latter,  in  recalling  his  undeviat- 
ing  tone  of  cordiality  for  all  who  entered  his  house 
as  special  guests,  turned,  no  less  nervously,  however, 
because  of  her  joyous  premonition  of  a  still  heartier 
reception  awaiting  Stanford,  to  make  the  presentation. 

The  Master,  extending  his  hand,  said  with  an  en 
gaging  smile :  "You  are  very  welcome."  Then,  address 
ing  the  trio,  he  continued  with  a  gesture  at  the  musi 
cians:  "I  had  the  table  removed.  Stringed  instruments 
soun,d  better  in  here.  Too  many  hangings — too 
much  furniture  in  the  music-room.  Pray  be  seated; 
we  shall  begin  at  once." 

Some  pupils  were  already  there.  Others  came  in 
whilst  the  instruments  were  being  tuned,  and,  lastly, 
two  white-haired  men,  Herr  Hofrath  Gille,  of  Jena, 
and  the  Court  organist  Gottschalg.  A  few  found 
chairs;  the  majority  seemed  to  prefer  standing  along 
the  walls. 

Liszt  took  a  seat  between  the  two  ladies  before  the 
salon  door.  "I  trust  the  glare  is  not  too  strong?'' 
he  said,  in  apology  for  having  drawn  the  curtains 
of  the  window  facing  them  in  order  to  give  the  mu 
sicians  light.  "My  failing  eyesight" — he  raised  his 
hand  with  an  impatient  movement  to  his  brows — 
"has  caused  me  considerable  worry  of  late.  I  in 
jured  it  some  years  since  during  a  residence  in  Rome. 
I  lived  at  the  Villa  d'Estes,  Tivoli,  and  always  drove 
to  and  from  the  city.  As  the  return  trip  was  gener- 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  1 6 1 

ally  begun  after  sundown  I  had  a  lamp  placed  in  my 
carriage  that  I  might  economize  the  interval  by  read 
ing,  for  the  way  was  long  and  had  to  be  traversed 
several  times  each  week." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  subjoined,  with  an  expressive  shrug, 
"the  mischief  has  been  done." 

In  trying  to  conceive  Stanford's  impressions  of 
this  first  visit  to  the  Royal  Gardens,  Muriel  found 
herself  contrasting  Liszt's  elegant,  guarded  flow  of 
language  with  his  oftentimes  reckless,  caustic  epi 
grams  when,  untrammelled  by  a  host's  obligations, 
he  mingled  with  his  pupils  in  the  class. 

However,  the  Master  turned  the  channel  of  her 
thoughts  by  opening  the  score  of  a  Beethoven  quar 
tette,  and  handing  it  to  her  to  follow.  After  signal 
ing  the  players  to  begin,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  closed  his  eyes.  If  particularly  pleased  with 
some  passage  of  music,  or  the  manner  of  reading  it, 
he  would  open  them  again  and  cry  "Bravo !" 

He  feigned  not  to  hear  when  the  entrance  of  Emil 
and  two  associates  in  his  pranks  caused  a  slight  com 
motion.  One  of  them  found  a  chair.  Two  minutes 
later  his  head  was  hanging  heavily  forward.  Liszt 
suddenly  opened  his  eyes  to  gaze  fixedly  at  him  with 
out  moving  a  muscle. 

A  muffled  explosion  of  laughter  from  Arthur  very 
nearly  created  a  scene. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  whispered  Rivington. 

"Meister  looked  at  Hermann  with  so  much  re 
spect." 

"Just  you  wait,"  said  Emil,  snapping  his  eyes,  "he'll 


1 62  MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

get  his  head  blown  off  to-morrow — if  he  is  sober  by 
that  time." 

After  the  Beethoven  number,  Pauline,  bearing 
aloft  an  elaborately-decorated  cake,  entered  to  clear 
the  way  for  Mischka,  who  followed  with  a  huge  bowl 
of  champagne  punch.  The  Master  himself  served 
the  ladies,  whereupon  the  young  men  devoted  them 
selves  to  the  punch. 

By  some  inexplicable  chance  no  one  stood  near 
when  Liszt  turned  again  towards  the  buffet. 

"Do  not  spare  the  punch,  gentlemen,"  he  re 
marked,  in  evident  surprise. 

A  significant  smile  passed  over  the  assembly. 
Stanford  picked  up  a  glass  and  said:  "Permit  me, 
Meister,  to  drink  to  your  very  good  health." 

"That  is  very  kind,"  he  responded,  with  a  look  of 
pleasure.  "Excuse  me  one  moment.  I  never  drink 
champagne — bad  for  me."  Pouring  some  claret 
from  a  decanter  he  touched  glasses  with  Stanford. 
Muriel  observed  that  the  latter  only  put  the  beverage 
to  his  lips. 

"Miss  Holme  tells  me  you  have  been  in  Weimar 
before,"  said  the  Master. 

"I  attended  school  here  from  my  sixth  to  my 
eighteenth  year." 

"In  that  case  you  should  be  called  a  son  of  Weimar." 

"Indeed,  it  seems  like  home  to  me.  It  is  impossible 
to  stay  away.  This  is  my  tenth  visit  since  leaving 
Germany  twelve  years  ago." 

"Sapp'rrement!  It  is  quite  incomprehensible  to 
me  how  you  Americans  can  cross  the  Atlantic  so 


< '  M7SS     TRA  UMERE1 "  163 

often.  I  could  never  make  up  my  mind  to  the  trip. 
I  have  always  had  an  aversion  to  long"  sea  voyages. 
The  journel  across  the  English  channel  was  as  much 
as  I  could  bear."  Liszt  shook  his  head  ruefully. 
Raising  his  eyes  he  scanned  Stanford's  face. 

"I  hope  we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you 
sing  to-day.  You  have  brought  your  music?"  he 
questioned,  with  penetrating  directness.  Instantly 
something  of  that  expression  with  which  he  always 
unnerved  his  new  pupils  possessed  him. 

"Yes,  Meister,"  replied  Stanford,  wincing-  as  at  an 
ordeal,  "if  art  amateur  may  venture  to  sing  before 
you?" 

"Oh!"  he  interjected,  with  an  expostulatory  toss 
of  the  head,  though  by  no  means  displeased  at  the  tra 
ditional  homage.  "After  another  quartette  we  will 
adjourn  to  the  salon." 

He  rested  his  hand  on  Stanford's  arm,  as  if  to  con 
firm  his  good-will,  and  said  to  the  musicians :  "Well, 
gentlemen,  how  about  the  new  quartette?" 

Some  one  tendered  the  score,  which  he  shared  with 
Muriel,  though  he  kept  his  eyes  closed  during  the 
most  of  the  performance,  and  she,  in  her  agitation 
over  Stanford's  prospective  debut,  followed  the  notes 
mechanically,  without  thought  of  the  composer's  name. 
Nor  did  she  know  that  she  was  assisting  at  a  first  hear 
ing,  until  everybody  crowded  round  to  view  the  score. 
She  suspected  it  to  be  the  Master's  work,  but  having 
once  relinquished  her  place,  she  was  too  abashed  to 
ask  the  question. 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  discussion  the  players 


1 64  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

took  their  leave,  and  then  Liszt  soon  bade  his  other 
guests  enter  the  salon  to  hear  Stanford.  Escorting 
Fran  von  Berwitz  to  a  place  at  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  he  took  a  seat  beside  her  as  a  signal  for  general 
attention.  In  that  moment  a  sense  of  responsibility 
vanquished  Muriel's  chronic  timidity  at  playing 
within  these  four  walls,  which  seemed  ever  echoing 
the  inspirations  of  the  great  Master.  Her  sentiment 
and  judgment  combined  in  the  choice  of  "Am  Meer," 
because,  for  him,  the  least  exacting  of  their  favorites 
from  Schubert.  Happily,  the  first  touch  of  her  skilled 
fingers  gave  her  countryman  courage  to  combat 
that  paralyzing,  humiliating  fear  which,  at  the  de 
cisive  moment,  invariably  assaulted  candidates  for 
Liszt's  approval.  Ere  he  had  completed  the  lines: 

Das  Meer  ergl;intzte   weit   hinaus, 
Im  letzten  Abendscheine," 

Muriel  knew  that  he  would  do  himself  justice,  and 
hearing  a  surprised  "bravo — bravissimo!"  from  the 
opposite  end  of  the  salon,  she  once  more  yielded  her 
self  to  his  enthralling  power.  Utter  silence  followed 
the  dying  strains,  until  the  Master  rose  to  cross  the 
room  and  fold  the  singer  to  his  breast  without  a  word. 

A  succession  of  whispered  "bravos"  and  light  ap 
plause  bespoke  the  mind  of  the  lookers-on.  Stan 
ford  had  created  a  sensation. 

Muriel's  heart  swelled  with  sweetest  triumph.  She 
had  welded  the  first  link  in  the  chain  which  would 
bind  him  to  her. 

Liszt   motioned   her  to   rise.     Sinking  into   her 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  1*5 

place  he  searched  the  index  of  songs  and  turned  to 
"Sei  mir  gegriisst." 

"That  is  for  you,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  Stanford. 
"You  have  sung  it,  of  course?"  Without  waiting 
for  assent  his  fingers  fell  with  velvety  caress  upon  the 
keys.  Liszt's  touch  seemed  to  fire  Stanford's  blood. 
His  delivery  of  the  invocation: 

O  du  Entriss'ne  mir  und  meinem  Ku?se 
Sei  mir  gegrusst  sei  mir  gekiisst. 

revealed  attributes  both  intensely  human  and  divine. 

Muriel  leaned  heavily  against  the  sofa  and  drove 
her  heels  into  the  carpet  in  the  effort  to  control  her 
features.  She  was  enraged  at  allowing  herself  to  be 
shut  in  where  every  one  could  read  her  face.  She 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  tried  to  think  of  other 
things,  and  all  the  time  Stanford  was  singing  with  a 
passionate  fervor,  a  perfection  of  phrasing,  to  which 
she  had  not  yet  been  able  to  incite  him.  Every  fibre 
of  her  being  rebelled  at  this  maddening  realization. 
The  primal  motive  of  their  coming  was  forgotten. 
She  could  have  annihilated  everything  and  every 
body — but  him — in  the  room.  The  loving,  vener 
ating  pupil  had  suddenly,  without  the  slightest  warn 
ing  even  to  herself,  become  a  victim  of  the  fiercest 
jealousy.  She  hated  Liszt  for  his  sway  over  Stan 
ford,  as  she  condemned  the  latter  for  his  unsuspecting 
faithlessness. 

"If  I  were  but  sure  of  him,"  cried  her  wounded 
heart,  "they  might  all  play  his  accompaniments  at 
once,  for  aught  I  would  care."  Again  all  her  resent- 


1 6  6  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

nient  would  melt  away  before  the  irresistible  tender 
ness  in  that  ever-recurring  refrain : 

"Sei  mir  gegrusst  sei  mir  gekiisst." 

Then  she  fell  to  wondering,  with  a  wild  yearning 
to  know  the  truth,  if,  at  all,  his  marvellous  power 
of  expression  were  not  art;  if  the  tenderness  and  af 
fection  breathed  forth  in  song  did  not  leave  his 
heart  barren  of  such  sentiments?  Yet  in  recalling 
the  increasing  gentleness  of  his  speech  and  manner 
in  their  simple  home-life,  she  fell  once  more  into 
happy  confusion.  In  this  emotional  fever  Muriel 
followed  the  song  to  the  end. 

Stanford  waited  with  lowered  eyes  for  the  final 
note  of  the  accompaniment.  It  did  not  come  at 
once,  for  the  Master  again  took  up  the  theme,  art 
fully  reworking  it  during  the  next  ten  minutes  into 
a  marvellous  harmonic  texture  of  his  own  fancy. 
His  eyes,  reflecting  each  minute  shade  of  expression 
which  characterized  his  improvisation,  were  in  them 
selves  a  study.  The  auditors  leaned  forward  in  spell 
bound  attitudes,  unwilling  to  lose  one  glimpse  of 
that  deeply-lined,  transfigured  face. 

To  Muriel  each  soft,  stirring  note  of  the  music  con 
veyed  a  gentle  rebuke  for  her  rebellious  mood.  Then 
and  there  she  could  have  thrown  herself  on  the  Mas 
ter's  neck  and  implored  forgiveness.  She  seemed 
never  to  have  loved  the  dear  old  man  so  much  as 
in  the  consciousness  of  having  given  him  an  un 
grateful  thought.  Her  face  was  hidden  by  her  hand, 
and  she  had  scarcely  heeded  her  penitent  tears  until 
aroused  by  an  abrupt  silence  in  the  room. 


"M7SS     TRAUMEREI"  '  167 

Liszt  was  powerfully  moved  by  the  music.  His 
eyes  had  a  thoughtful,  far-away  look,  as  if  searching 
amongst  tender  memories  of  a  dead  past.  His  voice 
sounded  low  and  thick  when  he  pushed  away  from 
the  piano  and  spoke  to  Stanford: 

"Come  to-morrow — to  the  lesson.  Your  welcome 
is  assured  for  all  time.  Aufwiedersehen !"  Grasp 
ing  both  hands  he  kissed  him  warmly  on  the  cheeks. 

Where  the  soul  of  music  enters,  human  hearts  are 
joining  in  wonderful  accord ;  fleetingly,  it  may  be,  but 
firmly  while  it  lasts. 

"Good-byes"  came  reluctantly. 

"Dear  Meister,"  whispered  Muriel,  so  softly  that 
none  overheard,  "I  thank  you  from  my  heart.  You 
have  made  several  people  very — very  happy  to-day." 

"So  have  you.  You  have  my  gratitude  also,  dear 
friend,"  he  repeated,  as  if  calling  himself  with  effort 
to  the  present.  With  impulsive  disregard  of  the 
conventions  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  for  the  first  time 
in  their  acquaintance,  and  affectionately  kissed 
both  cheeks. 

"Remember  it  is  the  old  Master  who  thanks  you. 
God  bless  you,  dear  America,  Aufwiedersehen!  auf- 
wiedersehen !" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Pursuant  to  her  desire  to  acquaint  Stanford  with 
the  life  of  the  Liszt  clique,  Muriel  had  proposed, 
at  dinner,  an  evening  at  Werther's  Garden,  a  popular 
open-air  restaurant  adjoining  the  Grand  Ducal  The 
atre. 

However,  after  her  mental  struggle  in  the  mu- 
sicale  at  the  Royal  Gardens,  she  wavered  in  her  plan 
for  lionizing  him. 

When  an  ingrate,  humbled  and  penitent  before 
Liszt,  she  was  disposed  to  put  a  rational  construction 
on  Stanford's  transgression  in  having,  without  her 
accompaniment,  surpassed  his  previous  vocal  efforts; 
but  upon  leaving  the  house  her  heart  chilled  to  his 
grateful  speeches  and  renewed  devotion.  They 
seemed  to  her  an  admission  of  his  thoughtlessly  in 
flicted  slight;  to  feel  that  she  had  been  out  of  his 
thoughts  for  any  period  of  time,  however  brief,  gave 
her  bitter  pain. 

In  her  overwrought,  nervous  state,  she  immedi 
ately  began  to  cherish  her  grievance  with  a  morbid 
tenacity  which  no  amount  of  reasoning  could  weaken. 
She  was  disinclined  to  create  other  opportunities 
for  him  to  upset  her  tranquillity;  her  selfish  desire 
was  to  pursue  life  as  they  had  begun  it,  in  the  se 
clusion  of  the  von  Berwitz  abode;  but  she  had  gone 
too  far  to  retreat.  Her  promise  was  given,  and  she 

had  no  choice  but  to  face  tortures  inevitable,  as  the; 

168 


•  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  169 

afternoon  had  proven.  Under  present  conditions 
she  felt  it  quite  justifiable  to  plead  a  headache  and 
keep  Stanford  at  home,  but  having  once  divined  his 
interest  in  the  proposed  entertainment,  no  personal 
sacrifice  seemed,  in  that  moment,  too  great  for  her 
to  make — anything  rather  than  cloud  his  most  trivial 
happiness. 

"If  I  but  knew,"  was  the  refrain  of  every  query  her 
mood  suggested;  and  yet,  upon  so  short  an  ac 
quaintance,  Stanford  could  not  have  shocked  her 
sense  of  propriety  more  than  by  telling  her  that 
which  she  most  longed  to  know. 

Her  unconscious  silence  and  listless  air  provoked 
Frau  von  Berwitz's  spirit  of  inquiry.  With  a  painful 
realization  of  her  own  dullness,  Muriel  said  that  she 
was  perfectly  well  and  desirous  of  adhering  to  their 
original  plan  for  the  evening.  Nevertheless  her 
alternating  fits  of  forced  pleasantry  and  deep  abstrac 
tion  having  depressed  the  other  two,  it  was  a  very 
bored-looking  trio,  which  sought,  towards  eight 
o'clock,  the  narrow  short  cuts  over  the  rough-paved 
town  to  the  little  square  environing  the  bronze  im 
ages  of  that  immortal  pair,  Goethe  and  Schiller. 

It . was  the  weekly  "band  night"  at  Werther's  Gar 
den.  The  familiar  strains  of  Weber's  "Euryanthe" 
overture  were  rising  in  tonal  splendor  from  the  su 
perb  regimental  brass  within  the  shaded  enclosure, 
as  Stanford  lingered  at  the  gate  to  pay  a  trifling  ad 
mission  fee.  The  lights  were  not  all  turned  on,  but 
here  and  there,  in  the  deepening  shadows  of  the  trees, 
family  groups  had  assembled  for  the  evening  meal. 


1 70  « 'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

Muriel  looked  down  the  long  avenue  of  tables, 
which  held  the  promise  of  so  much  brilliancy  later 
on,  and  shuddered  at  thought  of  the  weary  hours 
in  store  for  her.  She  could  not  talk.  Her  brain  re 
fused  to  yield  its  one  burning  theme.  Her  head 
seemed  bound  with  tightening  steel.  Involuntarily 
she  put  up  her  hand,  and  the  shadow  it  cast  made  her 
think  of  the  lonely  bypaths  in  the  shrubbery.  The 
idea  possessed  her  to  dart  into  one  of  them  and  elude 
her  companions.  Frau  von  Berwitz,  being  ahead, 
would  not  see  her  and .  She  pictured  herself  es 
caping  from  the  garden,  running  through  unfre 
quented  side  streets  to  the  station,  from  which  the 
train  carried  her,  quick  as  thought,  to  the  furthermost 
corner  of  Europe  that  she  might  be  alone  when  her 
heart  broke. 

She  was  already  sorrowfully  contemplating  her 
own  lifeless  body  in  the  dreary  wastes  of  Siberia,  and 
thinking  how  Stanford,  who  would  arrive  in  frenzied 
haste  by  troika,  would  fling  himself  remorsefully  at 
her  side  and  wildly  protest  against  cruel  fate,  when, 
turning  impulsively,  with  the  image  of  his  agonized 
face  still  before  her  mind's  eye,  she  saw  him  tapping 
the  tables  and  chairs  with  his  cane — she  fancied  in 
secret  annoyance — as  he  followed,  looking  indiffer 
ently  to  the  right  and  left. 

However,  Muriel  was  not  alert  enough  to  evade 
Stanford's  penerating  glance. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  stopping  in  tender  solici 
tude  before  her. 

"Nothing,"  she  answered,  with  a  short  laugh,  in 


• '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  1 7 l 

which  there  was  the  trace  of  a  sob,  as  the  absurdity 
of  her  mental  attitude  occurred  to  her.  Afraid  to 
trust  her  voice  further,  she  turned  and  started  towards 
Frau  von  Berwitz,  uneasily  aware  of  Stanford's  puz 
zled  scrutiny  as  he  paced  silently  at  her  side. 

Beyond  the  music  stand,  where  they  could  com 
mand  the  main  promenade,  a  body  of  young,  gaily- 
uniformed  officers  faced  each  other  above  a  long 
table.  At  sight  of  Frau  von  Berwitz,  Lieutenant  von 
Jahn  rose  hastily  to  his  feet  to  lead  the  general 
salutation.  Count  von  Hohenfels  was  not  of  the 
party,  owing  to  the  presence  of  his  mother  in  the 
city.  Seeing  no  other  military  coats  about,  Muriel's 
heart  was  lightened  with  the  hope  that  she  might  be 
spared  the  necessity  of  mediating  beween  Hohenfels 
and  Stanford,  when  they  abruptly  came  upon  the 
officer  supping  with  the  Countess  and  Fraulein  Pan 
zer  in  a  roofed  area  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  gar 
den.  It  was  too  late  to  avoid  a  meeting  or  the  inev 
itable  bidding  to  share  their  table. 

Muriel  and  Hohenfels,  at  least,  conformed,  with 
secret  thanksgivings,  to  the  dominating  hush  which 
good-breeding  exacts  during  music;  she,  indeed,  was 
not  in  a  mood  to  dissemble  with  success,  especially 
after  the  occurrences  of  the  past  few  hours,  and 
Hohenfels'  uneasy  glances  indicated  his  purpose  to 
follow  her  initiative. 

It  depressed  Fraulein  Panzer,  however,  to  see  the 
two  young  people  so  ill  at  ease.  Even  Frau  von 
Berwitz  and  Stanford  too,  she  fancied  a  trifle  out  of 
sorts.  Feeling  it  incumbent  to  create  a  more  cheer- 


172  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

ful  tone  in  her  party,  she  filled  the  pause  with  droll 
stories  of  the  local  clowns  discovered  by  her  roving 
eye,  until  convinced  of  success  by  a  spontaneous 
burst  of  laughter  from  all  but  the  deaf  Countess,  who 
could  only  smile  her  approval.  The  music  rose  again, 
and  with  it  came  a  hush  so  profound,  from  the  throng 
now  gathered,  that  the  light  footfalls  of  two  ad 
vancing  couples  reached  them  from  the  further  end 
of  the  gravelled  walk. 

A  low  murmur  of  voices  followed  their  course,  as 
the  two  ladies  of  the  quartette  bowed  right  and  left, 
until  they  came  upon  the  last  vacant  table  in  the 
enclosure. 

"Everything  that  walks  in  Weimar  knows  them," 
remarked  Fraulein  Panzer,  watching  their  friendly 
reception  of  some  long-haired  youths  of  marked  na 
tional  types,  who  had  sprung  up  in  various  quarters 
of  the  garden  at  the  close  of  the  music. 

"The  Fraulein  Stahr,  with  August  and  Ilmstedt," 
said  Muriel,  in  response  to  Stanford's  inquiring  look. 
"They  will  come  over  to  make  your  acquaintance 
when  they  see  us,  for  they  have  already  heard  of  your 
afternoon's  success." 

"Without  question,"  observed  Fraulein  Panzer, 
with  unusual  acridity.  "They  know  the  daily  hap 
penings  at  the  Royal  Gardens  ere  the  sun  disap 
pears  behind  the  Ettersberg!" 

"Do  they  employ  carrier  doves?"  asked  Stanford, 
with  humorous  appreciation  of  the  "Little  Canary 
Bird's"  fit  of  spleen. 

"No!   Magpies!"  She  retorted,  with  a  sharp  chirp. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  173 

Like  other  Weimaraner,  she  regarded  Anna  and 
Helene  Stahr  with  a  curious  mixture  of  tantalizing 
emotions,  because  of  their  lifelong  devotion  to  Liszt 
and  their  disinterested  absorption  in  his  pupils.  She 
invariably  greeted  any  mention  of  the  sisters  with  a 
sarcastic  smile,  a  shrug  or  an  elevation  of  the  eye 
brows,  though  by  no  means  unwilling  to  acknowl 
edge  their  really  great  influence  on  the  advancement 
of  musical  art,  whether  as  instigators  of  some  en 
terprise,  local  or  foreign,  or  in  the  better-known  ca 
pacity  of  instructors  to  the  musically  inclined  youth 
of  the  Grand  Ducal  capital. 

"They  will  expect  you  to  sing  at  their  house  to 
morrow  afternoon,"  she  continued  in  her  former 
tone. 

Stanford  smiled  dubiously. 

"Oh,  they  won't  let  you  off." 

"Sing  for  them,  by  all  means,  Carl,"  interposed 
Frau  von  Berwitz.  "Their  musicales  are  a  matter 
of  history.  Their  father,  Adolph  Stahr,  the  poet  and 
historian,  was  Liszt's  most  intimate  friend  whene  they 
were  children.  It  is  now  about  thirty-five  years  since 
Liszt  began  going  there  on  Sunday  afternoons  in 
summer.  Formerly  he  played,  now  his  pupils  make 
the  music  while  he  sits  in  the  front  row  and  listens. 
Nearly  all  the  great  artists  of  the  time  have  ap 
peared  there.  One  room  is  devoted  to  their  pictures, 
autographs  and  souvenirs  generally.  It  is  probably 
one  of  the  finest  collections  extant.  Muriel  has 
named  it  the  'Museum.' "  They  all  looked  at  Muriel 
expectantly.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not;  and 


174  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

laying  her  ann  on  the  table,  leaned  over  it  to  fill  an 
awkward  pause.  She  breathed  with  effort;  the  blood 
seemed  to  leave  the  region  of  her  heart  and  surge 
remorselessly  against  the  weary  tissues  of  her  brain. 
She  felt  anew  the  agony  of  the  afternoon's  ordeal. 
She  could  suffer  no  kind  of  interference  with  Stan 
ford!  Both  Frau  von  Berwitz  and  Fraulein  Panzer 
had  preceded  her  in  a  once-cherished  plan;  inno 
cently,  she  knew,  but  she  could  not  forgive  the  act, 
for  each  new  helping  hand  weakened  her  hold  on 
him.  The  thought  roused  her  craft;  the  moment 
gave  inspiration. 

"Annihilate  feeling  and  lead,"  it  said :  "be  not  led !" 

The  force  of  an  invincible  will  animated  her  word 
and  glance. 

"Will  you  not  go  with  me  now  to  meet  them?" 
she  said  with  composure  to  Stanford;  "it  will  please 
them." 

The  two  Americans  wended  their  way  amongst  the 
crowded  tables  to  the  Fraulein  Stahr.  The  noisy 
welcome  to  Muriel  put  Stanford  in  touch  with  the 
spirit  pervading  the  convivial  board,  as  he  edged  his 
way  into  the  circle  of  young  celebrities,  who  had 
become,  with  the  traditional  self-satisfied  bearing  of 
the  Lisztianer,  totally  oblivious  of  the  curious  atten 
tion  of  the  townspeople.  When  he  remarked  on  the 
Babel  of  tongues,  Muriel  counted  off  to  him  the  rep 
resentatives  of  eleven  different  nationalities.  They 
were  all  talking  at  once,  seeming  never  to  expect 
replies;  at  least,  that  was  the  impression  made  on 
Stanford,  for  before  he  bade  them  good-night,  the 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  175 

only  words  he  had  uttered  were  in  promise  to  sing 
the  following  afternoon  for  the  Fraulein  Stahr. 

"They  were  too  many,"  observed  Muriel,  as  they 
sauntered  back  to  their  party.  "You  must  go  with 
me  some  evening  to  the  Russischer  Hof,  where  chosen 
ones  only  meet  with  the  Sisters  Stahr  for  supper. 
There  I  can  insure  you  reminiscences  worth  carrying 
to  America." 

Stanford  darted  an  eloquent  glance — one  so  entirely 
for  her  that*  she  retarded  her  steps  to  turn,  her  face 
to  the  crowded  garden  for  one  ecstatic  moment  be 
fore  material  thoughts  obtruded  on  the  precious 
memory. 

But  she  would  not  yield  to  so  brief  a  promise  of 
divine  happiness.  She  had  been  too  often  subjected 
to  attentions  of  ephemeral  import  to  readily  trust 
men's  eyes.  Heaven  was  not  for  her — yet.  She 
remembered  the  voice  of  warning:  "Lead!  Be  not 
led!"  and  confronted  him  with  unperturbed  counte 
nance. 

He  moved  his  lips  to  speak — hestitated  as  if  un 
able  to  articulate,  and — they  had  reached  the  table. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Sunday  afternoon,  at  four  o'clock,  Liszt's  barouche 
drew  up  at  a  gate  in  Schwanseestrasse.  August,  who 
had  driven  with  him,  sprang  down  and  helped  him 
to  alight.  Anna  and  Helene  Stahr,  in  white  muslins 
with  fluttering  green  ribbons,  came  flitting  through 
the  garden  of  a  modern  brick  residence  to  meet 
them  half  way.  From  the  music-room  of  their  sec 
ond-floor  apartment  the  more  favored  pupils  went  to 
receive  the  Master  at  the  head  of  the  staircase,  while 
the  dubious  ones  hovered  with  faint  hearts  about  the 
entrance,  and  a  bevy  of  pretty  girls,  unknown 
to  the  Lisztianer,  shrank  into  the  remotest  corner. 
Following  the  treble-crescendo,  Liszt  came  to  a  halt 
on  the  threshold. 

The  long,  closely-fitting  coat  of  his  ecclesiastical 
rank  enhanced  the  dignity  of  his  bearing,  as  he  be 
nignly  grasped  the  first  timorously  extended  hand. 
Encouraged  thereby,  the  others  now  moved  briskly 
forward  to  pay  their  respects,  and  Anna  Stahr  actually 
propelled  the  strangers  along  before  the  Master,  to 
present  them  in  turn  ere  he  indulged  in  his  well- 
known  propensity  for  cutting  off  introductions  by 
taking  a  seat  in  the  front  row  of  chairs. 

The  Fraulein  Stahr  settled  themselves  to  the  right 
and  left  of  him,  and  gave  the  second  places  to  Muriel 
and  Stanford,  whilst  the  rear  end  of  the  escorting  pro 
cession,  taking  a  roundabout  course,  poured  in 

176 


'  'MISS     TRAUMEREI "  177 

through  the  dining-room  door  and  sought  the  nearest 
vacancies. 

Silence  fell  like  a  curtain,  and,  as  by  magic, 
Arthur  and  Ivan,  the  latter  a  young  Russian  with  a 
prodigious  technique,  appeared  seated  before  two  up 
right  pianos. 

During  the  flutter  of  expectancy  over  the  first 
notes  of  a  programme  full  of  surprises,  which  they 
had  prepared  to  welcome  the  Master  home,  Muriel 
noted  the  absence  of  the  pretty  strangers,  and  espied 
two  pairs  of  bright  eyes  covertly  inspecting  Stan 
ford's  handsome  face  from  the  dark  folds  of  the  din 
ing-room  portiere. 

"The  Master  is  nothing  to  them  beside  Carl,"  she 
reflected,  in  instantaneous  rebellion. 

The  realization  that  she  had  called  him  "Carl"  to 
herself,  for  the  first  time  without  forethought,  sent 
the  hot  blood  over  her  face  like  a  flame.  Often,  in 
solitary  musing,  she  had  conjured  up  his  magnetic 
presence,  gazed  into  his  fathomless  eyes  and  heard 
his  name  linger  fondly  on  the  breath  of  all  nature, 
until  "Carl — Carl — Carl"  had  become  the  dearest  re 
frain  of  her  beloved  music.  Even  though  she  hardly 
dared  trust  the  promise  of  his  eyes,  still,  in  the 
memory  of  that  last  meaningful  glance  at  Werther's 
Garden,  peace  of  mind  had  descended  like  a  blessing 
divine,  bringing  rest  to  her  slumbers  and  sunshine 
to  the  new-born  day. 

Stanford's  welcome  had  a  ring  of  eager  delight 
when,  in  obedience  to  intuition,  she  had  made  her 
first  appearance  for  that  day  at  dinner;  not  only  in 


178  "MISS     TRAUMEREI* 

order  to  obtain  extra  rest,  but  also  to  gain  an  expres 
sion  of  his  desire  for  her  companionship. 

No  woman,  however  much  she  may  help  a  man  in 
his  wooing,  wishes  to  seem  easily  won.  Muriel, 
therefore  gloried  in  the  unmistakable  devotion  in 
Stanford's  word  and  glance,  as  they  sauntered  across 
town  to  the  Fraulein  Stahr.  Fears  and  resolves,  in 
fact,  had  no  place  in  the  all-sufficient  present  until 
her  notice  of  Stanford's  admirers  induced  a  telltale 
color  which  caught  Liszt's  ever-ready  eye. 

With  a  perceptible  start  Muriel  sank  back  in  her 
chair,  and  the  Master,  developing  a  precipitate  inter 
est  in  the  music,  exchanged  his  seat  for  one  between 
the  two  pianists  where  he  could  unobservedly  advise 
them,  or  play  at  either  end  of  the  keyboard  to  broaden 
the  harmonies.  Soothed  by  this  manoeuvre,  Muriel 
hearkened  to  the  music  as  if  every  note  were  played 
on  the  strings  of  her  heart,  for  just  beyond  the  semi 
circle  sat  Stanford,  with  half-turned  face,  clearly  more 
intent  upon  her  than  upon  the  performers. 

They  were  playing  from  memory  "Faust,"  the  fav 
orite  symphonic  poem  of  Liszt,  who  indulged  in  inter 
mittent  bravos  of  delight.  Then  his  face  would  set 
tle,  with  a  low  droop  of  the  upper  lip  which  gave  him 
a  stern,  commanding  expression,  while  his  fixed  eyes 
seemed  penetrating  regions  too  distant  for  others  to 
follow.  The  music  faded  to  a  pianissimo,  and  the 
Master  began  humming  softly  as  he  marked  the  time 
with  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand.  He  himself 
was  hearkening,  in  fancy,  to  angelic  choirs,  his  coun 
tenance  wearing  a  look  of  peaceful  elevation.  So  far 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  179 

had  he  wandered  from  earthly  scenes  that  the  swell 
ing  harmony  of  pure  young  voices  in  the  adjoining 
room  was  soaring  gloriously  towards  heaven  ere  he 
was  roused  to  the  sweet  reality. 

A  moment  he  was  motionless  and  silent,  listening 
to  reassure  himself,  and  then  he  turned  a  radiant  face 
to  the  Sisters  Stahr.  Every  heart  mirrored  its  re 
sponse  to  the  happy,  spontaneous  smile  that  passed 
through  the  room ;  a  portiere  glided  noiselessly 
aside,  and  just  over  the  threshold  stood  the  singers — 
the  pretty  strangers — their  bright  young  faces  up 
turned  to  an  invisible  leader. 

A  soft  happy  light  stirred  the  depths  of  the  Mas 
ter's  gray  eyes,  and  the  heavy  lines  of  his  face  re 
laxed  under  the  stress  of  genuine  emotion. 

Although,  as  creator  of  a  new  form  in  musical  art — 
the  symphonic  poem — none  could  dispute  his  claim 
to  immortality,  it  was  no  secret  that  he  was  ofttimes 
grievously  irritated  in  old  age  to  have  his  maturer 
works  ignored  by  neighboring  musical  autocrats. 
This  modestly  planned  production,  therefore,  sounded 
not  only  the  first  notes  of  the  crusade  to  overcome 
that  prejudice,  but  told,  also,  of  the  love  of  his  loyal 
and  grateful  disciples. 

The  final  note  of  song  floated  heavenward.  The 
portiere  glided  into  place.  Arthur  and  Ivan  played 
to  the  end.  Then  the  Master,  overcome  by  his  grati 
fying  surprise,  could  no  more  than  shout  "Bravis- 
simo !"  as  he  embraced  successively  the  Fraulein  Stahr 
and  the  performers,  including  Alfred,  the  hidden 
choir-master,  and  his  winsome  band. 


1 80  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

Since  Liszt's  arrival  the  temperature  in  the  room 
had  risen  to  almost  unbearable  height.  He  had  as 
tieep-rooted  a  dislike  for  draughts  as  for  conserva 
tories  of  music.  The  rooms  were,  therefore,  kept 
practically  airtight.  As  poor  Arthur  and  Ivan  stood 
before  him,  patiently  mopping  their  faces,  he  gave 
indication  of  the  stifling  heat  by  constantly  running 
his  fingers  through  his  long,  silky  hair.  "Mariechen" 
crept  up  behind,  and,  with  forefinger  and  thumb,  pil 
fered  the  loose  strands  littering  his  shoulders,  twirling 
them,  for  safe  keeping,  about  a  button  of  her  dress. 
Her  pantomime  was  inimitable,  and  when  she  steal 
thily  drew  away,  she  confessed  to  her  laughing  col 
leagues  to  having  collected,  at  odd  intervals,  almost 
enough  for  a  locket. 

A  gesture  from  Liszt  and  a  movement  towards  the 
door  drew  all  eyes  to  a  novice,  a  guilty  window- 
opener,  who  drew  back  abashed  as  a  half-dozen  people 
sprang  to  close  it. 

Helene  Stahr  slipped  away  to  hasten  the  pro 
gramme  by  introducing  another  surprise. 

The  strident  noise  of  a  violin  undergoing  the  pro 
cess  of  tuning  cut  into  the  confused  murmur  of  re 
seating. 

"Ah!  •  My  little  Paganini!"  The  Master's  face 
glowed  with  delight,  and  he  walked  swiftly,  with 
hands  extended,  towards  the  dining-room;  but  the 
portiere  moved  back,  and  a  fairylike  young  creature 
in  white  lace  bounded  forward  to  meet  him. 

"Who  is  'Little  Paganini'?"  quizzed  Stanford, 
amidst  a  furore  of  plaudits  and  bravos. 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  1 8 1 

"A  countrywoman  of  ours,  who  carried  off  both 
prizes  at  the  National  Conservatory  in  Paris,  Arna 
Trebor,"  said  Muriel.  "Robert,  really;  for  she  re 
versed  the  spelling"  of  her  name  to  satisfy  a  whim  of 
her  manager." 

"The  Arna,  also?  The  backward  is  odder  than  the 
forward  spelling." 

"Oh,  no;  that  is  a  birthright.  To  settle  a  dispute 
for  a  name,  her  uncle  threw  some  letters  of  the  alpha 
bet  into  a  hat,  and  drew  for  the  first  combination  that 
made  sense.  A-r-n-a  was  the  result,  according  to 
her  mother."  And  Muriel  called  attention  to  a  tall, 
fashionably-attired  woman,  the  centre  of  an  admiring 
group. 

"A  handsome  pair,  and  inseparable.  They  spend 
their  summers  here,  and,  through  Liszt's  champion 
ship,  Arna  has  been  showered  with  honors  galore. 
They  returned  last  night  from  a  tournee.  Her  or 
ders,  her  gifts  from  crowned  heads  and  societies,  and 
her  mementoes  generally,  offset  interest  in  the  collec 
tion  there."  She  finished  by  pointing  to  the  "Mu 
seum"  entrance. 

Beyond  the  threshold  stood  a  group  of  choristers, 
intent  upon  her  and  Stanford.  "How  miserable  his 
wife  would  be,"  reflected  Muriel,  as  a  sickening  par 
alysis  crept  into  her  arms.  "How  miserable  his  wife 
would  be  if  he  yielded  to  the  sway  of  other  women. 
Would  he?  Could  he?" 

"Really,  you  have  the  most  penetrating  eyes  I  have 
ever — felt,"  Stanford  exclaimed,  in  a  bantering  tone. 
"What  do  you  see?" 


1 82  •  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

"Nothing,"  retorted  Muriel  impulsively,  and  forgot 
her  mercurial  mood. 

"Oh,  what  a  blow!" 

They  both  laughed  light-heartedly,  and  resumed 
their  places,  for  Liszt  had  bowed  Arna  to  her  station 
with  the  deference  due  genius  double  her  years. 

The  violinist  raised  the  Stradivarius  and  sank  her 
pretty  head,  with  its  curling  brown  locks,  upon  it 
One  stroke  of  the  bow  on  the  soulful  strings,  and 
the  great,  laughing  gray  eyes  assumed  a  look  of 
dreamland. 

The  violin  spoke  to  them  like  the  voice  of  a  human 
heart;  but  a  voice  made  beautiful  by  the  knowledge 
of  a  refining  and  ennobling  art.  None  would  or 
could  resist  the  spell  of  the  graceful  Arna.  They 
listened  and  looked  as  though  she  were  a  creature 
divine.  The  very  harmonies  seemed  born  of  her 
fingers  and  the  vibrating  of  the  strings  of  the  old 
violin.  Never  were  composer  and  interpreter  more  in 
accord. 

"She  feels  his  thoughts,"  observed  Muriel  softly 
to  Stanford,  who  had  placed  his  chair  next  to  hers 
after  the  intermission. 

"Whose?" 

"The  composer's — Bird's — Arthur  Bird,  who  wrote 
that  romance.  He  is  a  countryman,  you  know." 

"Does  a  woman  always  feel  her  countryman's 
thoughts?"  Stanford  leaned  slightly  nearer,  with  a 
roguish  twinkle  of  the  eyes. 

"Not  if  he  be  fickle,"  retorted  Muriel,  brightly. 
"They  would  be  too  inane." 


"MISS    TRAUMERE1"  183 

Stanford  laughed,  and  subsided  at  a  cue  for  silence. 

As  she  raised  her  bow,  Arna's  countenance  glowed 
with  a  coquettish  light.  A  shower  of  crisp,  scintillat 
ing  notes  sprang  from  the  pulsating  strings  like  a 
meteoric  fire.  .The  rhythm,  the  grace,  the  warmth  and 
playful  abandon  of  the  Sarasate  "Spanish  Dance" 
were  irresistible;  while  the  fearlessness  of  her  extra 
ordinary  technique  swept  the  emotions  of  the  hearers 
to  a  stirring  climax  of  wild  applause. 

"Inimitable!  Unquestionably  great!"  cried  Muriel, 
excitedly. 

"Her  personality  is  half  of  it,"  added  Stanford,  all 
aglow  with  interest. 

"Of  course,"  replied  Muriel,  calmed  by  his  observa 
tion.  "She  suggests  what  a  celebrated  violinist  re 
cently  said  to  me:  'I  love  my  husband  better  than 
any  man  living,  but  I  don't  love  him  a  quarter  as 
much  as  I  do  my  violin.' " 

"Has  a  piano  that  same  power  over  a  woman?" 
inquired  Stanford,  with  a  return  of  his  gay  manner. 

"It  could  have." 

"Is  it  the  rule?" 

"A  paradoxical  rule,  perhaps." 

"How  so?" 

"Isn't  a  woman  full  of  contradictions?" 

"Delightful  contradictions — yes."  Stanford  was 
oblivious  of  his  surroundings,  as  he  brought  his 
laughing  eyes  nearer.  "Now,  seriously — no  evasion." 

Looking  sharply  about  her,  Muriel  leaned  dis 
creetly  back  in  her  chair,  but  a  less  capricious  tone 
marked  her  words,  and  she  lowered  her  voice  as  Arna 


184  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

silenced  applause  by  retiming  her  violin.  "An  artist 
is,  first  of  all,  a  woman — the  artist  afterwards.  She 
demands  love  for  herself — admiration  for  her  accom 
plishments." 

"Isn't  that  a  bit  selfish,  demanding  a  fourfold  re 
turn — to  judge  by  your  violinist — for  what  she 
gives?" 

"Ah!  My  violinist  was  nurtured  on  the  homage  of 
the  public.  It  was  her  daily  bread." 

"Then  would  not  the  man  in  the  question  better 
take  time — the  artist — by  the  forelock,  and  prevent 
the  de*but?" 

They  laughed  like  two  innocent-hearted  children, 
and  Muriel  continued,  archly:  "Why?  To  let  her 
dream  of  what  might  have  been?" 

"But  would  she — if  she  loved  her  husband?" 

"Even  then,"  replied  Muriel,  with  a  sage  expres 
sion,  which  changed  as  she  added,  "but  she  wouldn't 
regret  it — if  she  truly  loved."  There  was  a  warmth 
in  her  voice,  a  sympathetic  thrill — almost  a  sugges 
tion  of  happy,  unconscious  tears. 

Stanford  flushed  slightly.  "That,"  he  interposed, 
"is  the  ideal  wife."  . 

"Yet,  a  practical  one,"  she  added,  softly,  for,  in 
honor  of  Liszt,  Arna  had  begun  his  "El£gie,"  a  favor 
ite  composition,  which  he  always  accompanied  in  his 
own  house. 

With  senses  prepared  by  this  play  at  hearts  for  the 
keenest  enjoyment  of  music,  they  found  it  in  watching 
the  player's  lovely  face  reflect  the  minutest  shade  of 
sentiment  pouring  from  the  soul  of  the  old  violin. 


' '  MISS    TRA  UMEREI "  185 

Her  versatility  fascinated — enthralled  the  more  deeply 
with  each  new  mood,  until  her  mere  presence  be 
spoke  inspiration. 

Luxuriating"  in  the  mystic  charm  enfolding"  her, 
Muriel  lazily  turned  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  Stan 
ford's  countenance.  Transfixed  by  Arna's  magic,  he 
was  lost  in  the  snare  of  her  dreamy  eyes.  Muriel 
watched  and  waited.  There  was  no  more  music  for 
her.  Every  stroke  of  the  bow  cut  like  a  knife  into 
her  heart.  Then  came  great  jubilation,  through 
which  Stanford  sat  motionless,  his  eyes  on  the  vio 
linist,  like  one  intoxicated. 

Arna  hugged  her  beloved  instrument  under  one 
arm  as  an  adoring  circle  formed  to  express  their 
rapture. 

Helene  Stahr  touched  Stanford's  arm  and  spoke 
quietly.  He  started  as  from  a  dream,  answered  inau- 
dibly,  and,  looking  at  Muriel,  gave  an  ecstatic  sigh 
which  she  only  heard.  He  shook  his  head,  smiled 
as  if  unable  to  find  words,  and  rose  to  open  his  folio 
of  songs.  Liszt  saw  the  move  and  resumed  his  scat. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Muriel,  who  had  not  rehearsed 
for  the  occasion.  Stanford  handed  her  the  Master's 
getting  of  Heine's  lines: 

"Thou  art  like  a  beauteous  flower, 
So  pure,  so  lovely,  so  bright." 

"An  appropriate  selection,"  she  observed,  with  a 
nod  and  smile  at  Arna. 

"Yes,"  said  Stanford,  indifferently,  looking1  deep 
into  her  eyes. 

Muriel  caught  blindly  at  the  tirst  group  cf  nr  tes, 


1 8  6  ' '  JMSS     TRA  UMEREI " 

and  the  song  began.  So  simple,  so  tender,  so  unaf 
fected  was  it,  following  the  tense  nerve-strain  of 
Arna's  witchery,  that  it  soothed  like  sunshine  after  an 
electric  storm.  Ivan,  avowedly  the  most  appreciative 
of  the  class,  sprang  up  to  say  feelingly:  "That  will 
be  a  green  spot  in  my  memory  of  the  most  ex 
quisite " 

"Green,  Ivanus?"  exclaimed  the  Master,  embracing 
him  and  Stanford  at  once.  "Green?  The  color  the 
song  calls  odious?"  With  characteristic  sawlike  res 
pirations,  Liszt  fell  to  laughing. 

"May  I  sing  that  song,  Meister?"  asked  Stanfoid. 

"Charming!  Charming  idea!"  he  answered  in 
French,  in  accordance  with  his  preference,  when  sure 
of  being  understood. 

Observing  the  grand,  seignorlike  poise  of  his  head 
after  he  had  dropped  lightly  into  his  chair,  Marie- 
chen,  the  complement  of  Emil,  the  jester  of  the  class, 
whispered  prophetically:  "Du  lieber  Himmel!  His 
vitality  won't  hold  out  over  to-morrow's  lesson — after 
that!  I'll  pay  for  his  dissipation." 

"Do  you  play,  Fraulein?"  inquired  von  Ilmstedt, 
solicitously. 

Mariechen  displayed  the  whites  of  her  eyes  and 
raised  her  hands  despairingly. 

"And  you?"  she  asked  in  return.  "And  you, 
Vilma?  And  you?  Humph!"  Again  tossing  up  her 
hands,  she  brought  them  together  with  such  a  report 
that  the  Master,  thinking  it  meant  for  Stanford,  began 
to  applaud.  Mariechen  hid  her  eighteen  years  of 
self  behind  the  Master's  great  chair  and  tried  to  swal- 


"MISS     TRA  UMEREl "  187 

low  her  handkerchief  as  her  colleagues  smothered 
their  mirth. 

Stanford  followed  Muriel's  reckless  attack  of  Schu 
bert's  spirited  song  with  notes  of  such  flaming-  tonal 
color  that  a  vocal  fibre  of  hitherto  undisplayed  beauty,- 
roused  by  the  dramatic  insistence  of  his  delivery, 
vibrated  through  the  room  like  an  electric  current. 

Impelled  beyond  the  limitations  of  self  to  the  realm 
of  the  infinite,  heads  and  hearts  greeted  the  inpour- 
ing  echoes  from  abyss  and  aerial  height  until  a 
boundless  universe  seemed  to  resound  with  joy  and 
thanksgiving.  Perhaps  there  was  conscious  com 
mand  in  the  refrain — a  command  of  which  love  made 
an  appeal. 

Ade,  ade  und  reiche  mir  zum  Abschied  deine  Hand. 

To  one  heart,  at  least,  were  they  words  of  both  de 
spair  and  hope.  To  the  ravished  sender  only  glory 
and  endless  ecstacy. 

Victor  of  the  day,  beyond  any  they  had  ever  seen 
proudly  he  stood,  a  god  among  men,  waiting  for  the 
final  note  of  accompaniment  to  acknowledge  the 
ovation. 

It  was  a  scene  of  scenes  for  even  Liszt's  Weimar. 

Arna  impulsively  caught  up  her  violin,  and  with  a 
word  to  Muriel  they  began  the  Schubert  "Serenade." 
Stanford  laughingly  resumed  his  former  station,  and, 
with  a  complimentary  bow  for  Arna,  sang  in  English, 
to  the  passionate  thread  of  obligate,  phrases  as  ex 
quisitely  enunciated  as  when  born  in  the  poet-mind. 
All  the  resources  of  their  wonderful  art  came  at  will 
to  the  gifted  trio. 


1 8  8  '  'MISS    TRAUMEREI " 

"Heart  spoke  to  heart,  touching  again  with 
poetry  hearts  as  rich  in  music  lore  as  their  own.  It 
was  a  fitting  close  to  an  ever-memorable  day;  a 
tribute  to  the  memory  of  other  days — dead,  like  the 
•hands  and  voices  which  made  their  music.  A  spirit 
of  the  past  hovered  over  their  young  heads — a  past  to 
which  belonged  the  snow-white  head  of  the  aged 
Master  whose  still  youthful  spirit  met  the  present  in 
just  as  sweet  accord. 

Into  the  adjoining  apartment  where  these  eloquent 
years  found  record,  came  the  guests,  after  he  had 
gone,  with  grateful  speech  and  fond  farewell.  A  pen 
sive  humor  guided  conversation,"for,  where  the  depths 
of  human  hearts  have  been  sounded,  the  frivolity  of 
careless  moments  finds  no  entrance;  and  moments 
like  these  are  sacred  to  the  musician — doubly  sacred 
to  those  whose  efforts  have  inspired  each  other  to  per 
fect  unity  of  thought  and  action. 

After  almost  superhuman  effort  to  be  conventional, 
Muriel  had  left  Stanford  and  the  Fraulein  Stahr. 
Her  pride  in  his  success  made  love,  adoration,  so  holy 
that  the  mere  vision  of  another  became  profanation. 

But  as  she  stood  by  an  open  window,  Rivington 
approached.  His  refined,  poetic  expression  ap 
pealed  to  her,  and,  surmising  his  loneliness  from  the 
eagerness  of  his  greeting,  her  first  thought  was  to 
enlist  Stanford's  interest  in  the  youth.  In  gladsome 
anticipation  of  his  voice  and  words,  she  turned  to 
look  for  Stanford. 

Beyond  the  threshold  of  the  museum  he  stood  with 
the  Trebors,  steeped  in  the  witchery  of  Arna's  up- 


"MfSS     TRAUMEREF  189 

turned  eyes  as  he  bent  over  her  with  a  devotion  which 
Muriel  had  dreamed  only  hers. 

Deaf  to  other  sounds,  she  heard,  in  fancy,  that  self 
same  voice — now  the  voice  of  a  man  of  middle  age — 
saying  "Muriel  Holme?  Muriel  Holme?  Ah,  to  be 
sure.  What  a  flirtation  I  had  with  her  back  in 
Weimar,  when  old  Meister  Liszt  was  living,  fifteen — 
twenty — humph! — never  mind  the  years — ago." 

Muriel  turned  again  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
"He  has  never  heard  me  play  before  others,"  she 
reflected;  and  the  day  grew  brighter. 

"Shall  we  go  out  there?  It  looks  cooler,"  she  said 
to  Rivington.  "Helene,  dear,  my  countryman  is  ab 
sorbed  in  your  collection.  When  he  comes  out,  please 
tell  him  that  I  wish  to  practice,  and  have  gone  on. 
Good-by,  Anna.  Aufwiedersehen,  dears:  to-morrow 
evening  at  the  'Russian.'  " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Frau  von  Berwitz  carried  a  satisfactory  excuse  for 
Muriel  when  she  and  Stanford  went,  at  Fraulein 
Panzers  invitation,  to  a  quiet  Sunday  evening  tea 
with  the  Countess  and  her  son.  When  they  returned 
the  lights  were  out  in  the  vine-grown  gable. 

Muriel  -was  not  again  visible  until  summoned  to 
dinner  the  next  day.  She  was  radiantly  well;  Stan 
ford,  a  trifle  subdued,  with  less  assurance  of  manner 
and  a  shadow  of  reproach  in  his  eyes.  The  inter 
change  of  attitudes  flattered  Muriel  and  increased  her 
consciousness  of  reserve  power  stored  for  the  test  per 
formance  at  Liszt's. 

They  had  sauntered  all  too  leisurely  to  the  lesson,  it 
seemed,  upon  reaching  the  park  gate  at  the  Royal 
Gardens.  Snatches  of  music  floated  toward  them,  and 
as  they  drew  nearer  they  were  greeted  by  friendly 
gestures  from  an  overheated  group  by  the  open  win 
dow. 

"I  fear  the  Master  is  in  a  bad  humor,"  said  Muriel, 
noting  a  grotesque  shower  of  treble  tones  from  the 
piano.  That  Mariechen's  prophecy  was  fulfilled  she 
was  assured  at  the  entrance  to  the  salon. 

"Does  it  give  you  pleasure  to  do  that?"  he  said, 
repeating  the  burlesque. 

"No,  Master,"  replied  a  familiar  voice. 

"Then  what  makes  you  do  it?" 

"I  thought  it  right,  Master." 
190 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  191 

"Well,  it  is  not!    I  recommend  you  to  do  it  so!" 

The  speakers  were  concealed  by  the  crowd,  which, 
including  privileged  visitors  and  newly  arrived  pupils, 
numbered  thirty  or  more. 

"Fie!  fie!  fie!"  cried  Liszt  angrily.  "  Why  stop  with 
a  dozen  false  notes,  when  twenty  are  just  as  easy? 
Halt!  Try  that  again!" 

The  frightened  youth  grappled  vainly  and  valiantly 
for  the  cue  to  the  Master's  lost  favor,  even  when  he 
saw  him  rise  in  silent  disgust  and  repair  to  the  re 
motest  corner  of  the  room. 

Muriel  and  Stanford  found  him,  scarlet-faced,  bend 
ing  over  the  writing-desk,  in  a  fruitless  quest,  smack 
ing  and  tasting  his  lips  as  usual  when  annoyed.  With 
modified  heartiness  he  extended  his  usual  welcome, 
and  said,  smilingly,  "See  how  they  wilfully  harass 
me."  However,  with  unfailing  perseverance,  he 
started  for  the  round  table. 

"Who  plays  this?"  he  asked,  catching  up  a  compo 
sition. 

A  dozen  paling  faces  turned  askance.  "I  do,  dear 
Master,  said  poor  "Norway,"  faintly. 

The  eleven  fortunates  smiled  at  each  other  and  re 
gained  their  normal  hues.  The  first  player  had  re 
tired  in  disgrace  to  the  leathern  chair  by  the  writing 
desk,  the  personification  of  abject  misery.  Ferreting 
him  out,  Liszt  placed  an  arm  round  his  shoulder. 
"Come,"  he  said,  leading  him  in  that  position  to  the 
piano,  "turn  the  leaves  for  'Norway.' " 

The  Master  invariably  sought  means  of  prompt  re 
dress  where  his  words,  however  just,  caused  pain. 


192  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

Therefore  "Norway"  gained  by  her  colleague's  loss. 
While  mildly  impatient  in  his  careful  criticism,  he 
relieved  his  pent-up  cynicism  when  beyond  her  hear 
ing  in  one  of  his  excursions  about  the  room. 

"Marie,"  he  said,  demurely,  to  a  renowned  ora 
torio  singer.  "There  is  a  small  railway  junction  be 
tween  Leipzig  and  Dresden,  named " 

"Risa,  Meister." 

"Thanks!"  he  responded,  with  a  sly  return  of  her 
glance.  "It  boasts  a  Conservatory  of  Music.  I 
recommend  it — for  some  people." 

Too  self-conscious  to  join  in  the  ripple  of  laughter 
passed  down  to  the  piano,  "Norway"  tremblingly 
gathered  her  music  up  and  faded  from  sight  in  the 
dining-room. 

"Now  for  a  game  of  chance,"  said  the  Master,  shuf 
fling  a  deck  of  playing  cards  into  fan  shape.  "It  is 
too  hot  for  sustained  effort  to-day.  August,  place 
that  new  composition  of  Zarembski's  on  the  piano. 
They  who  draw  a  face  card  must  read  a  page  at 
sight." 

A  bomb  could  not  have  created  greater  consterna 
tion  in  the  crowded  salon.  Timid  ones  slipped  behind 
curtains,  dropped  upon  ottomans,  or  glided  into  the 
dining-room.  The  sudden  thinning-out,  the  gasping 
sighs  and  frightened  glances,  incited  Liszt's  most  sar 
donic  humor.  The  refugees  were  first  sought,  Marie- 
chen  being  pulled  from  behind  a  portiere,  and  Vilma 
from  a  soliloquy  at  the  dining-room  window.  Then 
a.  successful  debutante  from  Berlin  stubbornly  refused 
to  draw. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  193 

Only  the  tense  silence  during  the  dialogue  equalled 
the  pitch  of  Liszt's  fury. 

"So!  Humph!  Very  well!  I  shall  not  hear  you 
play  for  a  fortnight,  if  ever  again!" 

Naming  the  order  of  trial,  Moritz,  a  phenomenal 
Polish  virtuoso  and  extraordinary  sight-reader,  led 
off. 

Then  Mariechen  flopped  limply  into  place. 
Though  an  earnest,  promising  student,  and  already  a 
concert  pianist  of  modest  renown  in  Thuringia,  as  a 
prima-vista  bungler  she  was  supreme. 

Presaging  fun  from  her  serio-comic  expression, 
Liszt  stood  opposite  her  with  encouraging  words. 
With  a  spasmodic  facial  contortion  he  signaled  her 
to  stop. 

"Quick!  quick!"  Oh,  Mariechen,  Mariechen!"  he 
groaned,  "I  didn't  think  it  of  you!"  Mariechen's  head 
sank  lower,  until  it  rested  on  the  piano  in  hopeless 
chagrin.  "Oh!  oh!  oh!  Here,  August,  extricate  this 
lady  from  her  dilemma." 

Mariechen  bounced  up,  overjoyed  to  escape  the  oft- 
recurring  duty  of  butt  for  Liszt's  ridicule.  Yet  his 
was  not  aimless  jesting.  Therefore,  Mariechen  was 
heard  to  plan  daily  sight-reading  ,  for  at  each  chance 
meeting  he  cried,  "Oh,  Mariechen!"  adding,  "I 
wouldn't  have  believed  it!" — while,  in  pantomime,  he 
appeared  to  fly  from  her. 

Other  successes  and  failures,  rousing  praise  or 
imprecations,  ended  the  trial. 

A  beardless  novice  from  Great  Britain,  however, 
captivated  every  one  in  a  rigorous  de"but  Mollified 


i  94  ' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

by  this  worthy  acquisition  to  his  class,  Liszt,  in  mov 
ing  about,  happened  to  catch  a  first  glimpse  of  the 
performer,  grimacing  in  rhythm.  With  the  short 
puffs  of  laughter  peculiar  to  him,  the  Master  stopped 
before  a  listening  group.  "How  like  a  monkey,"  he 
whispered.  "He  recalls  the  story  of  an  unsuccessful 
photographer  who  took  up  dentistry.  A  patient  came 
one  day  moaning  and  tremulously  pressing  his  hand 
to  his  jaw.  'Now  try  to  look  natural!'  exclaimed  the 
dentist,  cheerily  grasping  his  forceps.  'Put  on  a 
pleasant  expression !' " 

The  laughter  quickly  spread  from  one  group  to 
another,  in  traditional  fashion,  until  it  reached  the  one 
behind  the  player,  just  as  he  left  the  instrument. 

"It  is  nothing,"  said  Ivan,  his  sponsor,  kindly  look 
ing  into  his  frightened  eyes.  "The  Master  has  been 
telling  a  funny  story." 

"Oh!"  said  the  boy,  and  smiled  too,  for  Liszt  gen 
erously  applauded  and  came  to  advise  him. 

"Now,  Miss  Muriel,"  he  said,  gallantly  offering  his 
arm. 

"I  hope  it  won't  bore  you  to  hear  it  again,  dear 
Master,"  she  said,  her  heart  thumping  painfully  as 
they  walked  to  the  piano. 

"Certainly  not,  dear  colleague !  Certainly  not !  We 
will  see  if  it  can  be  improved!"  And  he  moved  his 
chair  to  the  side  of  the  room,  the  crowd  opening  for 
him  a  vista  to  the  keyboard. 

Aware  of  Stanford's  surprised  look,  Muriel  turned 
with  apparent  calm  to  her  work,  though  none  knew 
better  than  she  the  secret  condescension  felt  by  the 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  195 

average  Lisztianer  for  his  sisters-in-art — as  a  class. 

Few  of  Aem,  indeed,  combined  the  temperamental 
impulses  of  the  artist  virtuoso  with  the  unfailing-  dig 
nity  of  a  gentlewoman. 

"The  tip  of  'Norway's'  tongue,  held  lightly  between 
her  teeth,  always  protruded  from  the  left  corner  of  her 
mouth. 

Round-shouldered  Fraulein  L.  dove  incessantly  at 
the  extremities  of  the  keyboard. 

Fraulein  H.'s  head  nodded  like  a  Chinese  idol's. 

Mile.  P.  put  her  cuffs  in  her  pocket  and  loosened 
her  collar. 

Fraulein  R.  might  have  executed  the  famous  piece  in 
which  Mozart  struck  one  note  with  his  nose — or,  for 
that  matter,  any  number  required,  to  judge  by  Liszt's 
ceaseless  admonition,  "Don't  stick  your  nose  in  the 
keys." 

Among  those  who  displayed  gentle  breeding  and 
played  like  scholarly  artists,  Muriel  was  pre-eminent. 
Ker  attitude  never  suggested  athletics,  nor  offended 
by  its  incongruity.  Neither  did  any  love  of  display 
lead  her  into  shallow  or  degrading  artifices.  Like 
Arna,  her  appearance  won  half  the  victory  ere  she 
sent  a  thrill  through  the  hearer  by  the  force  of  her 
interpretative  genius.  But  Muriel's  position  at  Liszt's 
had  been  rather  equivocal,  owing  to  the  influence  of 
Adele  aus  der  Ohe's  musicianly  virtuosity. 

Ivan  had  said:  "There  is  much  in  descent.  Adele 
is  German ;  Muriel,  American.  The  latter  can,  there 
fore,  never  be  her  sister-artist's  equal." 

But  a  surprise  was  in  store  for  Ivan. 


196  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

Adele  had  not  yet  arrived.  Therefore  Muriel 
feared  no  rival,  though  she  recalled  Ivan's  statement 
that  no  woman — excepting,  possibly,  Sophie  Menter 
— could  play  Liszt's  "Don  Juan  Fantaisie."  To  this 
she  had  retorted,  "There  should  be  no  sex  in  art."  A 
manifold  purpose  now  ruled  her  determination  for  a 
crowning  success,  despite  the  length  of  the  composi 
tion.  Liszt  had  made  some  cuts  in  it  the  previous 
season,  and  a  winter's  hard  practice  had  made  it  her 
most  eloquent  medium  for  expression  and  virtuosity. 

The  start  was  like  the  plunge  from  a  precipice  into 
space — the  dividing-line  between  safety  and  the  awe 
some  unknown.  Muriel  caught  her  breath,  and, 
before  she  realized  it,  the  familiar  notes  were  secure  in 
her  grasp  and  the  spirit  of  mastery  hers  as  certainly 
as  in  her  own  work-room.  The  inspiration  lacking 
there,  was  here  the  air  she  breathed.  To  Stanford's 
presence  she  owed  the  power  of  endurance ;  to  love  of 
him,  the  tender  grace,  the  deep,  noble  sentiment,  and 
passionate  abandon  in  delivery.  On  theme  and  varia 
tion  she  touched  in  ever-excelling  gradation,  until, 
soaring  to  the  heights  of  revelation  and  immortal 
glory,  the  crown  of  greatness  was  in  her  grasp.  Now 
of  the  elect  in  art,  she  felt  her  mission  accomplished, 
and  she  waited  with  bowed  head  for  the  dying  wave 
of  inspired  tone. 

There  was  great  demonstration,  led  by  Liszt.  Yet 
Adele,  Arthur,  Ivan,  and  a  half-dozen  others  had 
roused  similar  scenes.  The  walls  echoed  and  re 
echoed  the  great  achievements  of  many  years. 

Muriel  listened  in  a  half-hearted  way  to   Liszt's 


"MZSS     TRAUMEREI"  197 

earnest  review  of  her  work  .and  to  Ivan's  comp'i- 
ment,  "A  credit  to  such  a  Master,  Fraulein":  and  she 
waited  vainly  for  some  expression  of  approval  from 
Stanford. 

All  but  the  circle  of  intimates  were  dismissed ;  Liszt 
accompanied  Stanford  in  some  songs ;  and  then,  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening1,  he  and  Arna  played  Beethoven's 
"Kreutzer  Sonata"  in  a  way  to  send  them  all  home 
with  hearts  full  of  nobler  emotions. 

Muriel  and  Stanford  were  neither  of  that  age  ready 
to  fly  asunder,  wounded  to  the  death  by  some  trifle, 
or  to  forgive,  forget,  and  join  hearts  in  eternal  bliss. 
A  barrier,  indefinable  yet  real,  had  come  between 
them.  Muriel  read  it  in  his  non-committal  manner 
as  they  returned  through  the  park,  and  was  irritated 
at  the  failure  of  her  brilliantly  conceived  triumph. 
Still  under  the  influence  of  her  daring  technical  feat, 
she  was  emboldened  to  employ  Liszt's  habit  of  simile 
and  enforce  a  response. 

"There  is  a  famous  picture,"  she  said:  "'II  Pen- 
seroso.' " 

"I  have  seen  it,"  remarked  Stanford. 

"Why  do  you  reflect  its  sentiment?"  she  asked, 
according  him  a  brilliant  smile. 

"For  having  learned  to  think  of  you  as  human," 
answered  Stanford  quickly,  with  a  penetrating  glance, 
"only  to  find  you  a  goddess!" 

"Don't  you  like  goddesses?"  said  Muriel,  her  eyes 
snapping  mischievously. 

"No!  That  is,  not  in  the  way  I  know  you.  Don't 
you  know,"  he  said  impulsively,  "don't  you  know  that 


1 98  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

men  hate  to  meet  women  in  the  arena  for  any  sort  of 
contest  but  one?" 

"What  is  that?" 

"Hearts!" 

"Ah!"  Muriel  caught  her  breath  and  looked  out 
toward  the  Urn.  "I  thought  you  believed  in  the 
equality  of  rights!" 

"I  do — in  theory."  Stanford  was  compelled  to 
laugh  at  this  admission.  "But  circumstances — certain 
conditions — don't  you  know — can  make  the  practice 
— peculiarly  undesirable." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  my  having  a  little  music 
in  an  amateurish  way?"  inquired  Muriel,  suddenly 
jumping  at  conclusions. 

"Everything;  for  you  are  no  amateur." 

"Then,  what  is  an  amateur?" 

"One  who  cultivates  an  art  for  love  of  it  only,  I 
suppose." 

"Strictly  speaking,  then,  I  am  an  amateur,  and  will 
never  be  anything  more — unless  in  adversity,"  she 
added  firmly. 

Stanford's  face  brightened.    "Absolutely?" 

"Absolutely,"  said  Muriel,  with  decision — "though 
it  rob  me  of  the  godlike,"  she  added,  with  a  gay  laugh. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Stanford  warmly,  in  spite 
of  a  sudden  return  of  roguish  humor  as  their  foot 
falls  drew  Frau  von  Berwitz  to  the  terrace  rail,  "it 
deifies  the  art  you  possess." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Ivan  once  called  the  frequenters  of  the  historic 
alcove  in  the  public-room  at  the  "Russischer  Hof" 
"The  Lisztianer  behind  the  scenes."  When  he  tired  of 
hearing  himself  quoted,  he  spoke  of  "The  Oracle  of 
Music,"  and  was  lauded — prodigy  of  intellect  as  of 
digital  skill. 

Even  a  faintly  original  or  witty  saying  found  up 
roarious  favor  with  the  mercurial  spirits  who  were 
elected  annually  from  the  choicest  stratum  of  Liszt 
ianer  by  Anna  and  Helene  Stahr,  the  founders  of  the 
"Corner  Table."  The  cry,  "Ladies  and  gentlemen! 
Listen  to  this!"  was  enough  to  win  the  attention  of 
all — artists  within  as  well  as  townspeople  without  the 
alcove. 

The  narration  aroused  a  shrill  chorus  of  Lisztianer, 
reanimated  grinning  waiters,  and  sent  the  citizens 
with  pursed  mouths  and  quizzical  glances,  back  to 
gossiping.  Voices  whirred  and  soared  from  early 
until  rational  bedtime. 

Eleven  o'clock  at  the  "Corner  Table"  was  dissipa 
tion  for  the  Fraulein  Stahr.  Even  ten  o'clock  brought 
languid  "good-nights"  from  wily  youths,  lured  to  un- 
seemlier  revels  at  the  "Hotel  zum  Elephanten." 

The  circle  was  complete,  when  Muriel  and  Stanford 
entered  the  public-  room  between  eight  and  nine 
o'clock. 

"A  revised  and  fingered  edition  of  Herr  and  Frau 
Jack  Spratt,"  Ivan's  genial  voice  was  declaring  be- 


200  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

hind  the  screen  which  formed  the  alcove.  "August 
orders  one  supper;  Anna  eats  the  meat,  and  he,  the 
vegetables."  At  this  there  were  gasps  of  feminine 
laughter  followed  by  general  mirth,  through  which 
a  hoarse  treble  rose  brokenly:  "Your  health,  my 
friends;  your  health." 

"Anna  never  raises  a  glass  but  to  propose  a  toast," 
observed  Muriel,  during  a  series  of  clicks  and  dis 
jointed  "Prosits!" 

"O-o-o-o-oh!  My  dear!  my  dear!  Mr.  Stanford! 
Mr.  Stanford!  Come  right  here,  Miss  Muriel! 
Waiter!  waiter!  Beer!  beer!  Quick!  quick!  Here,  you 
fellow;  two  beers!  Hurry  up,  or  you  don't  get  apenny!" 

The  boy  reeled  off,  choking  with  laughter,  and  re 
appeared  with  two  dripping  mugs,  in  time  for  the 
established  first  toast. 

"Meister!  Meister!  Meister!  Meister!"  rang  along 
the  circle. 

Anna  Stahr  reached  for  her  mug,  and  found  three. 
Muriel  and  Stanford  had  passed  theirs  to  her,  unno 
ticed.  Unabashed,  Anna  caught  them  up  gleefully 
and  sipped  at  each.  This  inspired  Emil  to  tell  of  the 
newly  made  widower  who,  stopping  for  refreshment 
on  his  way  from  the  cemetery,  sighed  as  he  paused 
with  glass  in  hand:  "Ah!  how  poor,  dear  Louise  did 
enjoy  a  good  swallow  of  beer  with  the  foam  on  it,  like 
that!" 

Ivan  repeated  Rubinstein's  reply  when  asked  if  he 
would  again  make  the  dreaded  voyage  to  America: 
"Why  should  I?  That  my  son  may  drink  more 
champagne?" 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  201 

Moritz  thereupon  recalled  a  story  of  Rubinstein's 
early  colleague  at  Weimar,  Hans  von  Billow,  who 
greeted  a  newly  presented  musical  critic  of  renown  at 
Copenhagen,  in  this  wise:  "An  impossible  nose!"  and 
turned  on  his  heel. 

His  insolence  reminded  Muriel  of  old  Professor  R., 
in  Berlin,  who  heard  his  neighbor,  the  United  States 
Minister,  whisper  to  his  wife  during  a  performance 
of  a  Schubert  Symphony,  "I  don't  care  for  that."  "It 
was  not  written  for  red-skins,  anyway,"  retorted  the 
Herr  Professor  fiercely. 

Fresh  supplies  of  beer  floated  them  into  personal 
and  duller  reminiscences  of  concert  tours.  Somewhat 
after  this  fashion:  "Great  furore — almost  a  panic! 
Awfully  bad  beer!  Press  ran  into  ecstatic  riot — 
thought  of  getting  out  extras — but  reconsidered  when 
receipts  were  declared." 

Arthur,  who  had  foregone  the  afternoon  lesson  in 
order  to  practice,  spoke  of  his  mother's  assertion  that 
he  had,  according  to  strict  count,  played  Chopin's 
G  major  prelude  just  seven  hundred  times  that  day. 

"Practice  i"  the  word  dispersed  the  party.  No  les 
son  to-morrow  implied  slavery  to  the  piano. 

August  and  Ilmstedt  escorted  the  Fraulein  Stahr. 

"Aufwiedersehen,  to-morrow  night!"  resounded 
through  the  darkened  street;  and  the  two  Americans 
sauntered  off  under  the  trees  in  Karl  Platz. 
.  Frau  von  Berwitz  had  not  yet  come  in,  Gretchen 
told  them,  between  simpers,  in  her  pretty  Thuringian 
dialect,  when  they  surprised  her  in  the  black  archway 
seated  beside  the  outline  of  a  man. 


202  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Let  us  go  to  meet  her,"  exclaimed  Stanford  in 
English. 

When  they  reached  the  terrace  steps  he  said :  "It  is 
pleasant  here.  She  will  come  this  way.  Let  us 
promenade." 

A  pale  soft  light,  forerunner  of  the  rising  moon, 
glanced  on  the  tree-tops  and  slipped  down  the  rose- 
tangled  gable.  "Moonlight  o'er  the  earth  is  stealing," 
sang  Stanford  and  he  fell  to  humming  the  "Sere 
nade." 

They  turned  to  retrace  their  steps — gently,  not  to 
mar  the  glory  of  the  night.  Muriel's  upturned  eyes 
reflected  the  glittering  firmament.  Stanford  averted 
his  face,  singing  again  softly, 

All  ihe  stars  in  heav'n  keep  watch,  love, 
While  I  sing  to  thee ! 

The  witchery  of  the  words — the  voice,  the  night — of 
love,  pure-hearted  and  ideal,  held  them  in  speechless 
bondage.  Alone — the  world  asleep-— soul  joined  lo 
soul  in  celestial  union,  oblivious  of  time— place — and 
the  muffled  tone  of  their  own  unhaltmg  tread. 

A  footfall  on  the  terrace — the  dream  was  over! 

Before  them  bending  boughs  of  exquisite  cream 
roses  filled  the  air  with  fragrance.  Stanford  culled  a 
half-blown  bud. 

"Will  you  take  it?"  he  said,  with  his  heart  in  his 
eyes. 

Muriel  half  glanced  up,  put  out  her  hand,  then — 
Frau  von  Berwitz  stopped  before  them. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

"London"  was  the  postmark  on  a  letter  which  Stan 
ford  fingered  nervously  while  sipping  coffee  with  the 
two  ladies  next  morning  under  the  plum  trees. 

"You  have  lost  appetite,  Carl!"  said  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz,  noticing  that  he  barely  touched  substantials. 

"More  than  that,"  he  replied,  after  a  fourth  reading 
of  his  letter.  "I  cannot  escape  it.  I  must  go  by  the 
one  o'clock  train." 

"Which  way?"  inquired  Tante  Anna,  in  alarm. 

"To  London." 

"London!"  gasped  Frau  von  Berwitz. 

"A  suit  involving  a  large  sum  of  money  for  a 
client  brought  me  over,"  said  Stanford,  avoiding  their 
eyes.  "I  am  wanted  in  London  at  once.  I  may  be 
able  to  return  here.  I  do  not  know,"  he  added,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause.  "I  will  try,  anyway,"  he  continued, 
banishing  gloom  in  a  sanguine  smile  and  a  renewal 

of  devotion  to  both. 

*     *     * 

Yet — he  was  gone — gone  without  a  parting  word 
or  glance  which  Muriel  might  cherish. 

"Aufwiedersehen?"  she  asked  herself,  as  Frau  von 
Berwitz  drove  with  him  to  the  station.  "Aufwieder 
sehen?  Every  one  says  that  here!"  A  taunting  voice 
whispered:  "Muriel  Holme!  Muriel  Holme!  Ah!  to 
be  sure!  What  a  flirtation  we  had  during  old  Meister 
Liszt's  time — back  in  the  eighties.  She  must  be  an 
old  woman  now — if  she  is  living!" 


204  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"They  say  it  is  bad  luck  to  watch  people  out  of 
sight,"  said  Gretchen,  looking  up  at  her  from  the  mid 
dle  of  the  street.  "I  am  going  in." 

Muriel  drew  back,  blinded  by  tears.  Entering  the 
Cloister  unseen,  she  groped  the  way  to  her  door  and 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

The  balm  of  tears  restored  her  faith  in  Stanford. 
Love  leaped  forth  to  protect  him  from  her  own 
doubts — to  save  her  from  guilt  when  bidden — if  ever 
— to  return  trust  for  trust.  Moreover,  Muriel  was 
too  enamored  of  love  itself  to  relinquish  one  degree 
of  its  ethereal  consciousness.  "He  will  come  again," 
she  promised  herself,  "if  a  steadfast  heart  can  draw 
him  here!  Until  then — I  believe  in  him.  Yet,"  she 
reflected,  knowing  that  sore  trials  were  inevitable, 
"one  victory  over  self  leads  to  another." 

Resolutely  crossing  the  court,  she  faltered  at  the 
threshold  of  the  room  where  he  had  sung  his  way  into 
herheart.  Its  desolation  chilled  her.  Bravely  she  tried 
her  piano,  The  music  was  gone — a  profanation  in  its 
discordant  responses  drove  her  to  the  garden.  The 
very  flowers  there  seemed  hanging  their  heads  in  sor 
row.  The  sweetness  of  life  was  only  slumbering — not 
dead.  Work  was  impossible. 

"I  will  go  everywhere  now,"  said  Muriel,  reviewing 
the  scene  once  hallowed  by  his  presence:  and  a  sob 
caught  her  breath.  "It  will  be  easier  to  come  here 
next  time,  perhaps." 

Returning  from  the  station,  Frau  von  Berwitz  found 
her  apparently  sleeping  in  an  easy  chair  in  the  sum 
mer  house. 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  205 

"I  was  waiting  for  coffee,"  exclaimed  Muriel, 
brightening  spasmodically  to  hide  her  feelings  from 
Tante  Anna,  never  suspecting  the  dear  woman  of  hav 
ing  read  her  secret,  through  that  instinct  for  romantic 
sentiment  characteristic  of  her  nation. 

"Let  us  take  coffee  at  Belvedere,"  subjoined  Muriel, 
in  quick  thought  of  a  place  not  associated  with  her 
countryman.  "Anything  to  kill  time  until  I  know 
that  he  is  safe  in  London,"  she  reflected. 

"We  can  ask  Fraulein  Panzer  and  Countess  von 
Hohenfels  to  drive  out  with  us,  and" — Muriel  ac 
knowledged  a  second  twinge  of  conscience — "and  in 
vite  the  Count,  Bernsdorf — Rivington — and — and — 
yes,  Rivington,"  she  repeated  with  homesick  longing 
to  hear  her  mother  tongue  and  look  upon  a  compa 
triot.  "The  gentlemen  can  join  us  later — for  supper. 
We  will  pass  the  evening  there." 

The  drive  to  Belvedere  changed  happily  the  current 
of  Muriel's  thoughts.  Beyond  the  villa  district  the 
leaf-arched  way  took  an  easy  ascent  to  the  royal  estate 
crowning  the  eminence.  Edging  a  compact  low- 
roofed  hamlet,  a  stone's  throw  from  the  castle,  a 
shaded  refreshment  plateau  looked  far  down  the 
meadows  to  the  roofs  and  tree-tops  of  Weimar  cluster 
ing  about  the  terminus  of  the  serpentine  Allee.  In 
the  background  the  giant  Eltersberg,  sentinel  of  the 
encircling  hills,  reared  its  verdant  head. 

Weather-wrinkled  peasants  were  rollicking  indoors, 
while  recreating  city  folks  enjoyed  the  salubrious  air 
and  the  wide  stretch  of  Thuringian  landscape.  Here 
coffee  was  served  to  them  under  the  trees,  Frau  von 


206  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

Berwitz  providing  homemade  cakes  from  her  con 
venient  reticule. 

Urged  by  wily  Fraulein  Panzer  to  walk  home  by 
moonlight,  Muriel  unwittingly  dismissed  the  carriage 
before  starting  to  stroll — after  the  gentlemen  had  ar 
rived — through  the  beautifully  ordered  private 
grounds  at  the  rear  of  the  residence.  The  facade  was 
purple  in  the  mellow  glow  as  they  halted  again  at  the 
opening  on  the  terrace  to  watch  the  sun's  posthumous 
glory  fade  slowly  above  the  Eltersberg. 

Though  excursionists  had  monopolized  the  garden 
in  their  absence,  a  supper-table  had  been  reserved  for 
them  on  the  verge  of  the  declivity. 

The  odor  of  new-mown  hay  floated  upward  from 
the  meadows  in  the  gloaming,  reflecting  lamps  bright 
ened  under  the  mantle  of  night,  and  a  male  chorus 
clicked  glasses  to  the  rhythm  of  spirited  drinking 
songs.  Far  below  the  outlined  union  of  black  hill 
and  starry  sky,  the  lights  of  Weimar  glimmered 
through  a  canopy  of  fine  silver  haze  like  marshalled 
will  o'  the  wisps. 

The  carousers  drove  off  in  wagons  with  cheer  and 
song;  isolated  groups  silently  vanished,  and  the  moon 
rose  over  straggling  worshippers  of  the  night.  Last 
of  all,  Muriel's  party  turned  reluctantly  from  their 
beloved  Thuringian  hills  to  the  shadows  of  the  Alice. 

Fraulein  Panzer  scrambled  ahead  with  Rivington, 
and  Bernsdorf  walked  off  with  the  two  matrons  in 
almost  unseemly  haste. 

After  sacrificing  every  other  consideration  for  the 
afternoon  and  evening  to  restore  their  normal  rela- 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  207 

tions,  Muriel  felt  herself  grow  white  with  annoyance 
at  this  concerted  opposition  to  her  will.  To  think  that 
they  could  so  take  advantage  of  his  absence !  It  out 
raged  the  fondest  dream  of  her  life. 

Hohenfels'  opportunity  to  offer  himself  was,  also, 
hers  to  settle  the  question  for  all  time.  Almost 
eagerly  she  joined  his  lingering  pace. 

She  felt  as  if  acting  in  personal  defense  of  Stanford. 
Alert  to  shield  him  in  every  sense,  her  heart  sur 
rounded  him  with  an  armor  of  affection — that  sort 
of  affection  which  finds  best  expression  in  a  caress 
without  words.  Looking  up  almost  defiantly,  she 
perceived  the  honest,  gentle  question  in  Hohenfels' 
gaze. 

"What  has  he  promised?"  she  asked  herself  in 
thought  of  Stanford,  "that  I  should  fight  his  battles?" 
"Nothing,"  was  the  sorrowful  response.  "But  I  love 
him!"  her  heart  cried  out  in  anguish,  and  once  more 
blind  passion  steeled  her  for  the  coming  trial. 

In  the  half-light  the  tremulous  appeal  in  her  lumin 
ous  eyes  stole  over  him  like  a  spell,  and  brought  her 
name  involuntarily  to  Hohenfels'  lips. 

"Muriel!  Muriel!"  he  whispered,  with  a  new  soft 
ness  in  his  voice. 

"Don't!  Don't!"  she  cried,  putting  out  a  hand  in 
protest,  suddenly  conscious  of  desire  to  spare  her  old 
friend  pain. 

"Why  not?"  he  continued,  tenderly.  "Can't  you 
see  that  I  love  you?  I  have  loved  you  so  long  and  so 
devotedly,  but  I  could  not — I  dared  not  tell  you  of 
it  until  I  had  something  more  than  a  heart  and  name 


208  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

to  offer  you.  Now  I  can  honestly  come  to  you  and 
ask  the  question,  Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

Grasping  her  hand  tightly  in  his  own,  he  leaned  low 
to  read  the  answer  in  her  eyes. 

The  right  word  would  not  come.  She  could  not 
wound  him  by  anything  stilted  or  commonplace.  The 
ticking  of  her  watch  rose  above  the  receding  foot 
steps.  She  tried  to  speak  and  looked  helplessly  into 
his  eyes. 

Misinterpreting  her  hesitation,  he  cried  passion 
ately:  "Do  you  love  me,  Muriel?  Say  that  you  do? 
Really?  Yes?" 

"I  am  so — so  sorry,"  she  repeated,  with  an  effort, 
gently  freeing  her  hand. 

"No — no!  You  shall  not!"  he  said,  drawing  her 
nearer.  "You  are  all  the  world  to  me.  I  cannot  think 
of  life  without  you.  You  must  love  me!  Say  that 
you  do — be  it  ever  so  little!" 

He  was  so  unlike  other  suitors  she  had  known  in 
Germany,  in  his  manly  sincerity  and  purity.  The  pas 
sionate  vibration  in  his  voice  made  her  tremble  and 
forget  self-imposed  obligations.  It  ravished  her 
senses  to  feel  his  burning  glance  and  weigh  the  fer 
vor  of  his  appeal.  Unconsciously  she  played  with 
emotion  as  if  it  were  a  toy. 

Stanford's  face  was  before  her;  and  they  two  once 
more  alone  in  the  old  rose-garden. 

"Muriel!"  Hohenfels  was  now  speaking  for  him 
self.  The  vision  was  gone.  Muriel  recollected  herself 
with  a  moral  shudder. 

"You  have  no  stauncher  friend  than  I,"  she  said 


"MISS     TRAUMERE1"  209 

quietly,  pressing-  his  hand  warmly  and  letting  it  go. 
"If,  by  word  or  look,  I  have  led  you  to  think  of  me 
in  any  other  relation,  I  humbly  ask  your  pardon.  I 
could  not  consciously  wrong  you  so  much." 

"You  have  done  nothing.  You  have  merely  been 
your  own  sweet  self.  I  love  you  for  what  you  are! 
Oh,  Muriel!  tell  me  now — do  you  care  for  me?" 

"As  a  friend — after  the  manner  of  friendship — yes." 

"No  more?  No  more?"  he  pleaded,  with  all  the 
gentle,  subtle  tenderness  of  his  nature.  "Could  you 
not  learn  to  love  me?  I  would  be  so  patient — so  true. 
Try  it.  Decide  at  leisure.  I  will  wait — if  you  will 
only  try." 

"I  wish  I  could — since  you  wish  it!"  exclaimed  Mu 
riel,  impulsively,  with  all  the  frankness  and  sincerity 
of  belief  in  her  firm  tones.  "It  pains  a  true  woman 
to  reject  the  honest,  undivided  love  of  a  noble,  gen 
erous-hearted  man — but  it  never  can  be — so." 

"Why  not?  A  little  of  your  love  will  suffice  me. 
If  you  will  only  be  my  wife,  I  will  be  so  devoted,  so 
faithful,  so  fond  that  you  will  some  day  give  me  your 
love." 

"It  is  wrong  of  me  to  argue,"  said  Muriel,  more  to 
herself  than  to  him.  "No,  my  friend ;  with  all  my  re 
gard  for  you,  it  is  impossible.  It  was  not  meant  to 
be.  Something  here  tells  me  so,"  she  added,  placing 
a  hand  over  her  heart.  "We  have  been  friends — let 
us  remain  so.  You  have  done  me  an  honor  which 
falls  to  few  women.  No  woman  could  be  more  deeply 
touched  by  it.  I  cannot  say  more.  It  hurts  me  to 
speak  of  that  which  is  sacred  to  our  hearts.  Let  this 


2io  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

pass,  as  if  nothing  had  been  said,  and — and — when  it 
is  right  that  it  should  be  so — let  us  resume  our  friend 
ship."  . 

Muriel  put  out  her  hand.  "Shall  it  be  so?"  she  said, 
in  a  firm,  yet  sympathetic  voice.  Hohenfels  was  silent 
and  as  pale  as  the  moonlight  touching  the  fragrant 
meadows  bordering  the  Alice. 

"Listen,"  he  said  at  last,  and,  as  he  spoke,  the  color 
crept  back  to  his  face  and  eyes,  and  his  words  glowed 
with  the  eloquence  of  strong  feeling.  "This  is  not  a 
mere  passing  fancy,  but  the  one  great,  enduring  love 
of  my  manhood.  Since  knowing  you  it  has  grown 
and  strengthened,  till  now  it  rules  my  entire  being. 
Your  image  is  before  me  night  and  day.  In  the  midst 
of  active  duty  on  the  parade  ground,  your  dear  voice 
rings  in  my  ears;  its  music  lulls  me  to  sleep  and  wel 
comes  the  return  to  consciousness.  You  are  my 
heaven — my  all — of  this  life  and  that  to  come.  Think 
what  you  are  doing.  I  love — I  worship  you!  Con 
sider  what  that  means.  Take  time.  Do  not  answer 
me  now!  I  will  wait.  You  will  see  how  patient  I 
can  be  if  you  will  only  give  me  one  chance  of  hope. 
Think  well,"  he  exclaimed,  passionately.  "It  is  the 
eternal  happiness  of  a  man  which  you  have  the  power 
to  make  or  destroy  by  a  word." 

"I  know,"  replied  Muriel,  deeply  agitated  by  his 
manly  appeal,  "but — it  hurts  me  to  make  you  suffer 
by  saying  it,  for  you  will  always  be  the  same  dear 
friend  to  me — I  can  never  become  your  wife !  Try  to 
forget  that  you  have  wished  it.  Think  of  me  kindly — 
do  not  make  us  both  unhappy  by  referring  to  it 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  211 

again.  Some  day  it  will  be  easier  for  you,  and  then — 
it  will  be  all  for  the  best,  dear  friend." 

As  she  was  speaking,  the  possibility  of  a  similar  de 
velopment  in  her  own  case  weighed  her  heart  down 
to  breaking.  The  desolation — the  agony  of  living  in 
such  a  state — appalled  her.  Pity  that  another  human 
being — an  old,  tried  friend — should  suffer  so,  through 
knowing  her,  overcame  her.  She  looked  at  him  with 
all  the  compassion  in  her  nature  roused  to  expression. 
Words  failed  her,  and  with  an  uncontrollable  sob,  Mu 
riel  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  They  were  both 
so  utterly  miserable — the  world  beyond  the  shadow 
of  the  lindens,  so  sad,  and  yet  so  sweet.  She  had  not 
realized  until  then — until  she  saw  his  bared  head 
bowed  in  mute  grief  before  her — how  strong  the  bond 
of  friendship  had  grown — and  how  was  it  possible  to 
heal  the  wound  she  herself  had  made? 

Muriel  composed  herself  and  silently  offered  her 
hand.  Hohenfels  took  it  without  lifting  his  eyes. 

"Is  there  no  hope?"  he  said,  with  an  effort. 

Muriel  shook  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"Good-by!  Good-by!"  he  said  brokenly.  "Try  to 
think  of  me  always  as  being  that  which  I  would  like 
to  be.  Don't  let  thought  of  me  make  you  unhappy. 
I  love  you  so  well  that  I  could  not  bear  to  have  my 
memory  bring  one  pang  of  regret,  or  the  slightest 
shadow  over  your  life.  Let  it  always  be  sunshine ;  and 
when — when — you  are  happy  in  your  own  land,  know 
that  the  prayers  of  a  faithful  friend  in  Germany  watch 
over  and  protect  you!" 

He  was  quiet,  very  quiet,  for  a  moment,  and  all  the 


212  '  'MISS     TRAUMEREI " 

earth  seemed  listening  in  deathlike  stillness.  "Good- 
by,"  he  murmured,  with  the  agony  of  parting  in  his 
eyes,  sinking  reverently  on  one  knee  and  clasping 
her  hand  to  his  heart  as  he  uplifted  his  face  in  bene 
diction.  "God  always  guard  and  keep  her!"  A  stifled 
sob  in  which  there  was  no  relief  of  tears  shook  him 
from  head  to  foot.  He  pressed  her  hand  passionately 
to  his  cheek,  to  his  forehead,  his  eyes,  and  cov 
ered  it  with  burning  kisses. 

Muriel  turned  away  her  head,  and  then,  he  rose 
quietly,  and,  without  a  word,  they  started  down  the 
Alice.  Near  the  Royal  Gardens  they  came  in  sight  of 
their  companions. 

"Remember,"  said  Muriel,  under  her  breath,  "we 
are  friends. — for  eternity!" 

They  clasped  hands  in  one  long  pressure,  and  then 
they  came  upon  Bernsdorf  and  the  two  matrons. 

"See,  Muriel,"  observed  Tante  Anna,  pointing  to 
the  side  window  of  Liszt's  music-room.  A  student- 
lamp  and  a  familiar  head  threw  a  faint  silhouette 
against  the  drawn  blind. 

"The  dear  Master,"  responded  Muriel,  with  the 
trace  of  recent  emotion  in  her  voice ;  "he  is  still  work- 
ing." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Knowing  Muriel's  unhappiness,  Tante  Anna,  with 
feminine  art,  strove  vainly  to  obtain  a  definite  expres 
sion  of  Stanford's  designs.  But  their  letters  were  in 
frequent,  and  soon  Muriel  was  bereft  of  even  the 
small  degree  of  comfort  gained  by  remembering  his 
former  constancy,  for  although  his  hastily  penned 
lines  bespoke  sincerity  and  hearty  regard,  it  was,  may 
be,  only  the  same  regard,  Muriel  was  prompted  to 
think  oftener  than  her  sense  of  justice  to  him  ap 
proved,  which  he  vouchsafed  an  ever-growing  throng 
of  adherents.  Though  devoting,  with  unfailing  cour 
tesy,  several  clauses  to  her  in  each  letter  to  Tante 
Anna,  once  only  had  he  written  to  her,  and  then  after 
the  frank,  unaffected  manner  of  his  verbal  intercourse. 

After  fitting  intermission  she  had  responded,  and 
then  came  an  unbroken,  heart-wearying  lull. 

Latterly  the  influx  of  old  pupils  and  privileged 
guests  from  abroad  had  enlarged  Liszt's  class  to  its 
maximum.  Muriel,  therefore,  won  temporary  im 
munity  from  active  participation.  Frau  von  Berwitz 
promptly  arranged  for  a  brief  vacation  at  Friedrichs- 
ruhe  in  the  pine  forests,  to  which  Muriel  demurred, 
in  the  unexpressed  belief  that  Stanford  might  return 
as  abruptly  as  he  had  departed.  With  this  in  view,  she 
carefully  instructed  Gretchen  of  her  whereabouts,  did 
she  leave  home  for  only  an  hour. 

Under  such  nerve-tension  Muriel  existed,  planning 
diversions  for  each  day,  binding  herself  to  nothing 


213 


214  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

which  restricted  freedom.  The  ever-hopeful  present 
was  her  support.  The  future ? 

"The  fourth  Thursday  since  he  went,"  she  mused, 
early  one  morning,  at  breakfast  in  the  old  rose-garden. 
"Three  weeks  and  two  days  since  he  said  "Aufwieder- 
sehen!'" 

"Still  no  word  from  our  American,"  remarked 
Gretchen  for  the  fourth  successive  morning,  uncon 
sciously  employing  her  own  appellation  for  Stanford 
— revised  for  outside  gossip — as  she  came  with  the 
first  mail. 

"What  is  the  day  of  the  month?"  inquired  Tante 
Anna,  looking  up  from  her  paper. 

"The  second,"  answered  Muriel,  quickly.  "Why, 
Tante  Anna,"  she  continued,  brightening  as  if  grate 
ful  for  the  reminder,  "Saturday,  'Jury  the  Fourth,'  will 
be  our  great  American  national  holiday.  Let  us 
celebrate  it — here — no — in  the  house — for  the  Meis- 
ter  must  come,  and  he  would  take  cold  here — and  we 
must  have  music,  too — the  pianos." 

Muriel  developed  her  plans  with  feverish  intensity. 
Had  it  been  a  wise  precedent  to  establish  she  would 
gladly  have  made  her  colleagues  her, daily  guests  at 
the  suburban  pleasure  resorts  during  the  past  weeks; 
but  equality  of  being  and  doing  was  a  tradition  of 
these  summer  gatherings  at  Weimar,  and  Muriel  con 
formed  silently,  though  impatiently,  to  the  routine 
amusements  of  her  circle. 

She  had  not  seen  Hohenfels  since  the  eventful 
night  at  Belvedere.  He  was  popularly  supposed  to  fre 
quent  Bad  Berka,  an  adjacent  resort,  where  his  mother 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  215 

and  Fraulein  Panzer  were  staying  for  a  short  time. 

Rivington,  however,  had  become  so  devoted  in  his 
friendship,  that  Tante  Anna  jocosely  referred  to  them 
as  "the  Holme-Rivingtons."  Undaunted  thereby, 
Muriel  felt  a  new  independence  in  accepting  the  escort 
of  her  youthful  countryman  to  the  "Corner  Table," 
and  to  every  haunt  of  the  clique  centered  by  Anna 
and  Helene  Stahr,  who,  if  conspicuous  at  times,  were, 
nevertheless,  interesting,  instructive,  and  always 
kindly  disposed.  Consequently,  Rivington  being  the 
only  other  American  then  with  Liszt,  Muriel  sent  him 
a  note  proposing  that  invitations  to  the  national  cele 
bration  go  out  jointly  in  their  names.  Following 
this,  Liszt's  verbal  promise  to  postpone  the  regular 
lesson  in  order  to  attend  the  fete,  decided  Muriel  on 
the  final  arrangements. 

"Meister  dislikes  a  crowd,"  she  said  to  Tante  Anna. 
"I  shall  ask  only  the  pupils  and,  of  course,  the  Frau 
lein  Stahr.  Why  can't  I  invite  Alvary?  One  out 
sider  will  make  no  difference,  and  then  he  goes  so 
soon  to  America,  it  would  be  a  sort  of -" 

"Beginning  with  the  people,"  suggested  Frau  von 
Berwitz. 

During  the  midday  dinner,  a  messenger  from  the 
Royal  Gardens  came  with  a  note  for  Muriel  in  the 
Master's  unique  hand. 
"My  honored  colleague: 

"Be  not  too  extravagant  in  your  feast.  Have — 
punch — cake — sandwiches?  No — that  is  too  much. 
Otherwise  I  really  cannot  come.  Remember,  then- 
punch — cake — and  perhaps  a  glass  of  red  wine  or  a 


216  <>MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

little  cognac  for  the  old  Master.     No  more.     Your 
devoted  F.  LISZT." 

Muriel's  tardy  arrival  at  the  lesson  next  day  con 
firmed  the  Master's  belief  in  her  contemplated  ex 
travagance. 

"To-morrow  is  the  grand  fete!  Cake — punch! 
Remember — no  more!  And  yet — a  little  music.  Yes! 
Before  all  things  we  must  have  'Yankee  Doodle'! 
Nah.  Play  it  for  us — now!" 

Though  somewhat  disconcerted,  Muriel  accepted 
the  words  in  the  friendly  spirit  of  their  utterance,  and 
dashed  off  the  giddy  measures  at  a  rattling  pace. 

"Yan-kee — Doo-dle!"  sang  the  Master  under  his 
breath,  at  each  recurrence  of  the  name ;  then  mouthed 
the  ensuing  words,  as  he  swung  his  head  from  side 
to  side  in  rhythm  with  the  music,  his  features  alive 
with  glee,  and  his  right  hand  beating  time  as  for  a 
grand  orchestra.  "Brava — brava!  Famous!" 

"Ah!    An  idea!" 

Levelling  his  index  finger  at  Arthur,  he  shook  it 
with  a  sober  expression. 

"A  task — for  you !  Yes — Arthur  must  do  it.  Take 
the  theme  'Yan-kee — Doodle,'  and  make  of  it  a  fes 
tival  piece  for  to-morrow!  Much  can  be  done  in 
twenty-four  hours,"  he  added,  at  signs  of  a  demurrer. 
"Two  pianos!'  Something — grand!  And — ah,  yes — 
A-me-ri-ka — must  play  it  with  you."  Turning  a 
searching  glance,  his  eye  fastened  on  Rivington. 

"Yes,  Master,"  was  the  happy  response. 

"Further,"  and  the  Master  turned  to  Muriel.  "Do 
you  chance  to  know  Rubinstein's  variations  on  'Yan- 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  217 

kee  Doodle'?  No?  They  are  dedicated  to  your 
William  Mason,  too.  Capital  things — capital!  Only 
one  fault — a  trifle  long." 

"Something  like  fifty-three  pages,  I  believe,"  ob 
served  Rivington. 

"Just  so,"  said  the  Master,  laughing  with  him.  "I 
believe  they  are  published  in  Leipzig.  Have  them 
to-morrow — and — each  one  shall  play  a  variation  at 
sight. 

A  wave  of  general  consternation  swept  over  every 
face. 

"They  are  beastly  things  to  play — let  alone  read  at 
sight,"  growled  Emil,  to  be  overheard  by  all  except 
ing  the  Master,  who  was  saying,  "Have  a  little  more 
music.  You  play  something,"  he  indicated  Muriel, 
"and  Arthur — and — not  you,  Mariechen.  Oh,  no — 
you  haven't  retrieved  yourself  yet,"  and  the  patriarch 
paused  to  have  the  laugh  on  his  offending  pupil. 
"But — Alfred  shall  play,  instead.  And  now,  to  work!" 

Listening  with  unusual  indulgence  to  the  automatic 
precision  of  "Old  Counterpoint,"  whom  he  had  re- 
christened  upon  first  acquaintance,  Liszt  suddenly 
changed  countenance,  tapping  his  forehead  with  evi 
dent  satisfaction. 

"Where  is  my  little  Baedecker?"  he  inquired,  ris 
ing  and  leaving  the  piano. 

"Here,  Meister,"  laughingly  answered  Muriel,  who, 
as  bureau  of  general  information  to  the  Master, 
had  long  borne  the  soubriquet. 

"We  must  commemorate  the  festival  with  a  pic 
ture — a  group,"  softly  said  Liszt,  moving  aside. 


2 1 8  •  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

"I  will  have  the  photographer  at  the  house  on  Sat 
urday,"  responded  Muriel. 

The  Master  puckered  his  mouth  and  stroked  his 
chin  in  dissent. 

"Better  not,"  he  murmured,  with  a  significant  smile. 
"We  don't  want  any — any  other  ladies  in  it,  do  we? 
Just  you,  Rivington,  and — my  poor  self.  Let  it  be  an 
— American  group." 

Muriel  could  scarcely  credit  her  senses  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  honor  which  he  had  volunteered  was  one 
accorded,  to  the  best  of  her  knowledge,  to  scarcely 
more  than  a  half  dozen  of  his  most  celebrated  pupils. 

Leaving  her  gasping  for  a  fitting  word  of  thanks, 
the  Master  shuffled  back  to  his  place  at  the  piano, 
laughing  immoderately  at  his  final  remark,  "Let  it  be 
an — American  group." 

As  Muriel  and  Rivington  lingered  a  moment  after 
the  lesson,  Ilmstedt,  who  was  passing  slowly  out, 
overheard  the  Master  say  to  them:  "To-morrow,  you 
see — your  fete  day — is  just  the  time.  Meet  me  at 
Held's  at  eleven;  and — you,  Amerika — will  perhaps 
come  and  walk  down  with  me?" 

"Indeed,  Master,  I  can't  permit  you  to  walk.  I  will 
have  a  carriage  here." 

"No,  no !  Remember — no  extravagance !  Without 
a  carriage.  We  walk  to  Held's." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

Saturday  dawned  behind  clouds  as  far  as  little 
Weimar  was  concerned.  As  he  came  up  Marien 
Strasse,  at  ten  o'clock,  to  fetch  the  Master,  Rivington 
stopped  in  at  the  hostler's  to  order  a  carriage  at  the 
Royal  Gardens  a  half-hour  later. 

"Yes,"  drawled  Menke,  as  he  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
running  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  "but  Herr  Doc 
tor  sent  Mischka  down  early  to  say  I  was  not  to  let 
you  have  a  carriage,  in  case  you  came  for  one." 

"Ah — leave  that,  Menke,  I'll  bear  the  blame.  See, 
it's  beginning  to  sprinkle  now.  He  can't  walk  in  the 
rain." 

"Very  well,  Herr  Rivington,  if  you  will  give  that  to 
him  as  an  excuse,  why  I'll  hitch  up  at  once." 

The  Master  had  not  yet  risen  from  the  early  nap 
which  always  followed  his  breakfast  when  Riving 
ton  reached  the  Royal  Gardens. 

Mischka,  quite  refreshed  in  appearance  and  good- 
natured,  was  writing  at  his  square  table  facing  the 
great  open  window. 

"Well?"  said  Rivington,  questioningly. 

"All  goes  well,"  said  the  servant.  "I  don't  be 
lieve  any  one  has  heard  of  it;  and  Herr  Doctor  got  up 
well  disposed  this  morning." 

"God  be  praised!"  said  Rivington,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "Mischka!  Mischka!  Look!"  Ilmstedt  had  just 

appeared  in  the  distance,  coming  up  Marien  Strasse. 
2.9 


220  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Ya — Ya!"  said  the  Hungarian,  with  a  wise  nod. 
"But  he  won't  get  in.  I'll  tell  Pauline."  With  that 
he  dashed  down  the  stairway.  "She's  on  the  watch," 
said  he,  reappearing.  "Nobody  will  get  past  her. 
Donnerwetter!" 

Mischka  had  heard  a  sound  from  the  salon.  Tear 
ing  open  the  dining-room  door  he  vanished  in  his 
usual  headlong  way  to  answer  the  Master's  call. 

A  moment  later  a  murmur  of  voices  preceded  their 
entrance  to  the  dining-room.  With  his  right 
hand  the  Master  was  brushing  his  long,  snowy  hair 
back  from  his  face,  and  Mischka  was  supporting  him 
by  his  left  arm,  as  Rivington  came  forward  with  his 
morning  greetings. 

"Amerika!"  articulated  the  Master,  with  much  de 
liberation,  extending  his  hand  with  a  sleepy  smile. 
"Nah,"  he  interrupted  his  walk  to  conceal  a  huge 
yawn.  "Suppose  you  get  the  last  'Musikalisches 
Wochenblatt'  from  the  table,  in  there,"  he  said,  indi 
cating  the  salon,  "and  read  me  the  news  while  I  am 
being  shaved. 

Sinking  into  an  ordinary  straight-backed  chair  by 
the  dining-table,  the  Master  stretched  out  his  feet, 
interlaced  his  fingers  across  his  waistcoat  front,  threw 
back  his  head,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Mischka  had  all  the  appliances  ready,  and  went 
rapidly  to  work. 

"Well,  what  is  there  new?" 

"Not  much,  Master." 

"That  is  old." 

"Well,"  said  Rivington,  with  a  short  laugh;  and, 


'  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI "  221 

bracing  himself  against  the  arm  of  an  easy  chair,  he 
began  to  read  to  the  scraping  monotone  of  Mischka's 
razor: 

"Musical  Jottings" — "Johann  Schmidt,  an  excellent 
pianist,  gave  a  concert  of  modern  and  classical  compo 
sitions  last  Monday  evening  before  a  numerous  audi 
ence  in  the  grand  hall  of  the  Hotel  de  Rome.  The 
young  man — for  he  has  not  yet  attained  his  nine 
teenth  year — is  the  possessor  of  unusual  natural  en 
dowments,  and  displayed,  especially  in  the  Rigoletto 
Fantasie  from  Liszt,  remarkable  digital  facility,  cou 
pled  with : 

"That  is  original!"  interrupted  the  Master;  and 
Mischka  had  to  suspend  work  to  allow  a  chuckle  of 
amusement. 

Rivington  ran  his  eye  down  the  column.  "Ah, 
yes!  The  venerable  Meister  Liszt  attended  a  concert 
given  by  one  of  his  pupils,  Fraulein  Marie " 

"Mariechen!"  interposed  the  Master. 

"Fraulein  Mariechen  Bilbach,"  said  Rivington 
gravely,  noting  the  correction  to  the  interruption  of 
Mischka's  task.  When  the  Master  had  recovered 
from  the  spasm  of  laughter,  Rivjngton  continued, 
"in  Suiza.  Of  course  the  great  man's  presence  insured 
the  young  artist  a  crowded  house,  and  she  returned 
to  Weimer  the  richer  by  several  hundred  marks." 

"So!  Well — something  different,"  observed  the 
generous  spirit  who  scorned  reminiscences  of  his 
beneficence. 

"John  Bull  and  'God  Save  the  Queen,'"  read  the 
pupil  from  the  other  page." 


222  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

"Bull— Bull— 'John'  Bull.  A  good  substantial 
name!"  observed  the  Master,  with  dry  humor.  "Bull!"' 

"An  English  writer  has  undertaken  to  prove  Dr. 
John  Bull,  an  eminent  organist,  born  in  1563  (d.  1628 
in  Anvers),  the  composer  of  'God  Save  the  Queen.' " 

"Ah — let  us  have  that!"  exclaimed  the  Master. 

Whilst  Rivington  was  in  the  midst  of  the  long 
story  the  wheels  of  a  vehicle  grated  on  the  gravel 
before  the  house  door. 

"What!   Didn't  you  give  Menke  my  order?" 

"Certainly,  Herr  Doctor,"  replied  the  valet. 

"My  fault,  Meister,"  said  Rivington. 

"I  shall  walk,"  was  the  firm  retort. 

"But,  Meister,  it  rains." 

"Not  much,"  he  replied,  with  a  show  of  relenting, 
and  he  rose  to  look  at  the  weather.  "Well,  I'll  join 
you  in  a  few  moments." 

Ilmstedt  was  not  discouraged  by  Pauline's  refusal 
to  admit  him  to  Liszt's  apartments.  As  his  sole  pur 
pose  was  to  throw  himself  in  the  way,  and  thus  con 
nive  for  an  invitation  to  join  the  group  and  be  photo 
graphed,  he  resolved  to  be  at  the  atelier,  as  if  by 
chance,  when  the  trio  arrived.  He  had  jealously 
guarded  their  secret;  perchance  a  fifth  might  swell 
the  party  and  injure  his  own  opportunity.  Yet,  in 
retracing  his  steps,  by  happy  accident  he  thought  of 
Ivan,  who  disapproved  of  every  new-comer,  regard 
less  of  his  musical  status.  He  had  been  photo 
graphed  with  the  Master  the  previous  year,  and 
might,  therefore,  render  valuable  aid  of  some  sort — 
as  yet  undefined  in  Ilmstedt's  mind — especially  as  Ivan 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  223 

illy  concealed  his  jealousy  of  Rivington's  favor  with 
the  Master. 

"To  think  of  that  upstart  being  immortalized  in 
such  a  way!"  he  answered  Ilmstedt  in  a  rage.  "An 
honor  which  but  few  of  Franz  Liszt's  greatest  pupils 
have  won!  Come!  I  will  be  there  with  you!" 

"Held,"  said  Ivan,  finding  the  photographer  alone, 
"you  have  a  group  on  to-day?" 

The  man  elevated  his  shoulders  and  eyebrows 
questioningly. 

"Oh,  come.     I  know  all.  about  it !" 

"Herr  Ivan !"  responded  Held,  who  had  been  sworn 
to  secrecy. 

"I  will  give  you  one  hundred  marks  in  advance," 
said  Ivan,  coming  nearer  and  lowering  his  voice, 
"if  you  will  smash  the  plates  after  they  are  taken." 

"Never,  Herr  Ivan!" 

"But,  Ivan,  not  if  I  am  on  them!"  gasped  Ilmstedt. 

"Shut  up,  you  fool." 

"Two  hundred,  Held,  two  hundred  marks!" 

"Not  in  eternity,  Herr  Ivan;  one  act  against  the 
wishes  of  the  good  old  Master,  who  has  done  so  much 
forme!" 

"Then  you  admit  it  is  the  Master?" 

The  alarm-bell  rang  as  Muriel  and  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz  stepped  into  the  atelier. 

"Most  excellent!"  exclaimed  Ivan,  eyeing  a  large 
new  photograph  of  Liszt,  which  had  that  day  been 
hung  up. 

Before  the  greetings  were  ended,  the  carriage  from 
the  Royal  Gardens  had  halted  without. 


224  '  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

Held  rushed  bareheaded  to  the  curb,  and  returned, 
supporting  the  Master  on  his  arm. 

"Everything  is  ready,"  he  said;  "I  shall  detain  you 
but  a  moment." 

After  some  little  dispute  as  to  position,  they  were 
taken — Liszt  seated  before  an  upright  piano,  with 
Muriel  at  his  side  a  trifle  to  the  rear,  watching  his  fin 
gers  wander  idly  over  the  keys,  and  Rivington,  with 
one  arm  resting  upon  the  instrument,  stood  looking 
down  at  the  Master. 

"Capital!"  shouted  Held,  in  glee.  "Have  patience 
just  a  moment  longer,  Master,"  cried  Held  anxiously, 
as  he  shifted  the  sides.  "Now!  Ready?— There!  Ah!" 

At  that  moment,  as  if  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
group  ere  broken,  Ivan,  who,  with  Frau  von  Berwitz 
and  Ilnlstedt,  had  been  asked  to  stand  behind  a  por 
tiere,  appeared  in  the  archway  dividing  the  two  rooms. 

An  awkward  step — a  frightful  crash — and  Ivan, 
with  flaming  cheeks,  stood  facing  Held  across  the 
prostrate  form  of  the  camera.  Together  they  raised 
it  into  place,  and  Held  tremblingly  inspected  the  ap 
paratus. 

"Ivanus!"  ejaculated  Liszt,  recognizing  the  mis 
creant  with  paternal  indulgence;  and,  did  he  surmise 
design  on  the  part  of  his  fiery  pupil — as  the  Ameri 
cans  believed — he  never  revealed  it  by  word  or  glance. 
A  sunbeam  abruptly  pierced  the  gray  light  of  the 
atelier  and  silvered  the  whitened  locks  of  the  old 
Master.  "Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  movement  to 
shade  his  eyes,  "the  day  is  yours,  Amerika!" 

"The  day — but  I  fear  not  the  picture,  dear  Meis- 


•- 'MISS     TRA  UMEREI  "  225 

ter,"  responded  Muriel,  with  a  disappointed  glance 
at  the  photographer's  unhappy  face. 

"Both,"  he  calmly  replied.     "We  will  sit  again!" 

"Meister,"  exclaimed  Muriel,"  with  fresh  interest, 
"I  was  thinking  as  I  came  from  your  house  yesterday 
what  an  ideal  scene  that  daisy-flecked  lawn,  up  by 
the  hedge,  behind  the  Alice  gate,  would  make  for  a 
photograph.  It  has  sprinkled  lightly;  I  don't  believe 
the  grass  would  be  wet." 

"Charming  idea!  Charming  idea!"  And  rising  has 
tily  Liszt  said  sotto  voce  to  Rivington:  "See  that 
Held  and  his  apparatus  come  with  you  in  a  droschke." 

Whenever  Rivington,  in  after  years,  recalled  this 
famous  celebration  of  the  American  "Fourth"  on  the 
historic  soil  of  Saxon  Weimar,  two  incidents  led  the 
procession  of  crowding  memories. 

The  first  came  before  his  mind's  eye  as  a  memor 
able  picture: — 

Frau  von  Berwitz  stood  in  the  small  drawing- 
room  listening  to  a  desultory  conversation  between 
Arthur  and  Liszt. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Master,  "I  heard  that  you  played 
the  Chopin  Preludes  and  the  entire  set  of  Paganini 
Studies  in  your  first  recital  in  Berlin.  A  feat — not 
for  the  masses — but  for  you,  and  I  honor  you  for  it!" 

Frau  von  Bcrwitz  was  a  smiling  witness  of  the 
young  man's  joy  at  such  rare  praise  from  Liszt,  who 
had  been  to  him  a  most  exacting  disciplinarian  for  a 
decade.  Her  spontaneous  pleasure  gave  an  abrupt 
though  graceful  turn  to  the  drift  of  thought. 

"Dear  Meister,"  she  said,  "let  me  kiss  the  hand 


226  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

which  has  made  so  much  beautiful  music  for  the 
world;"  and  with  a  quick  movement  she  raised  it  to 
her  lips. 

The  Master  with  courtly  ease  grasped  both  her 
hands  warmly  and,  in  his  accustomed  way,  imprinted 
an  acknowledgment  upon  her  forehead. 

But  the  music — all  combined,  in  fact — was  second 
ary  to  Rivington's  solicitation  about  his  speech.  He 
was  toast-master  and  had  to  say  it  all  in  German.  It 
wasn't  much,  to  be  sure,  for  little  Fritz — who  was  on 
a  visit  to  his  grandmother  from  Berlin — had  been 
able  to  memorize  it,  though  apparently  absorbed  in  a 
story  book,  as  the  household  worked  to  compose  it 
the  night  before  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  the  youth  had  heard  a 
piping  voice  proclaim  outside  the  great  open  door  of 
Muriel's  music-room,  where  he  sat  alone  in  reverie, 
after  Held's  triumph  with  his  camera,  at  the  Royal 
Gardens.  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  my  country's 
name  I  thank  our  greatly-honored  and  dearly-be 
loved  Master  for  the  honor  which — 

"Fritz — Fritz!  How  dare  you!"  shouted  Frauvon 
Berwitz  from  an  upper  window.  Then  he  heard 
hers  and  Muriel's  muffled  laughter  as  four  pair  of 
small  boots  rattled  the  gravel  in  their  scampering 
flight  down  the  garden  walk. 

"Dearly  belpved  Master"  rang  in  his  ears.  "Ge- 
liebter"  was  the  German  of  it,  and  it  was  very  like 
"verliebter,"  which  means  that  one  is  very  much  in 
love.  "What  should  I  do,"  he  had  said  at  rehearsal,' 
"were  I  to  be  confused  and  say  verliebter  Meister?" 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  227 

"Herr  Rivington — Herr  Rivirigton,  you  must  not 
even  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Frau  von  Berwitz, 
trying  to  keep  a  sober  face,  "as  sure  as  you'do,  you 
will  say  it  to-morrow." 

But  he  didn't,  and  the  Master  was  highly  com 
plimentary  and  responded  with  "Amerika!" 

The  floral  decorations  and  feast  were  not  in  accord 
ance  with  Liszt's  admonition  of  economy,  but  he 
yielded  without  a  dissenting  word,  possibly  forgetting 
his  threat  in  the  diversion  which  Arthur's  arrangement 
of  "Yankee  Doodle"  had  created. 

"Suppose  you  repeat  that!"  he  said  to  Arthur  and 
Rivington,  from  his  place  between  them  at  the  two 
pianos.  The  introduction,  without  a  trace  of  "Yankee 
Doodle"  in  it,  had  been  a  most  majestic,  Olympus- 
scaling  mass  of  harmonies.  After  its  repetition, 
which  Liszt  followed  with  a  serious  countenance  and 
an  occasional  nod  of  approval,  one  of  the  pianos 
trolled  out  the  familiar  breakdown.  "Yan-kee-Doo- 
dle,"  repeated  the  Master,  but  he  soon  had  to  stop  it, 
for  the  changes  grew  wilder  and  more  startling.  He 
exclaimed  with  delight  at  the  climax  and  led  the  as 
sembly — the  two  pianists  included — in  a  crescendo 
of  laughter,  as  the  closing  chorus  from  Beethoven's 
Ninth  Symphony  sprang  up  against  "Yankee  Doodle" 
— above  a  reverberating  bass — the  "Bell  Theme" 
from  Wagner's  sacred  music-drama,  "Parsifal." 

It  was  a  clever  hodge-podge,  with  merits  on  which 
the  Master  descanted  in  detail. 

After  all,  the  greatest  sport  of  the  day  came  with 
reading  at  sight  Rubinstein's  Variations,  and  not  the 


228  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

least  of  it  was  furnished  by  Mariechen — Mariechen 
Bilbach,  who  had  hidden  herself  behind  one  of  the 
heavy  curtains  in  the  library.  Here  the  Master  found 
her  in  his  search  for  deserters. 

"I  would  much  better  have  left  you  there,  Marie 
chen,"  said  Liszt  with  a  comical  sigh,  as  she  ceased 
mincing  the  variation  allotted  her. 

"Here!  Moritz,"  he  said  to  the  young  Viennese, 
who  surpassed  them  all  as  a  sight  reader,  "this  lady  is 
in  trouble.  Be  gallant." 

There  was  other  music.  Muriel,  Arthur  and  Al 
fred  played,  and  then  Liszt  drove  home. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight,  as  his  open  carriage  wound 
its  way  through  the  narrow,  crooked  street,  to  witness 
the  homage  of  the  common  folk.  The  laborer  in 
coarse  blue  homespun  stood  aside  with  his  burden 
and  doffed  his  hat ;  the  schoolboy  ceased  his  antics  to 
uncover  his  tumbled  curls,  and  to  each  the  aged  Mas 
ter  touched  his  hat  and  returned  a  smile. 

Music  still  floated  from  the  open  windows  of  the 
old  mansion.  Arthur  was  playing  Liszt's  Rhapsody 
No.  2.  The  composer  was  seen  to  turn  his  head 
slightly  and  say  something  to  the  three  boys  who 
were  accompanying  him  home. 

"Why  is  it  never  played  in  the  lesson?"  asked  Riv- 
ington  of  Muriel. 

"Meister  is  tired  of  it." 

"Nevertheless,"  interrupted  Alfred,  "it  is  the  best 
of  his  rhapsodies." 

Faithful  to  the  custom  of  exclusive  circles,  the 
guests  fell  off  after  the  order  of  recedence,  until  Mu- 


' ' MISS     TRA  UMEREI  "  229 

riel  was  left  combating  the  insistent  wiles  of  the  "In 
ner  Circle"  to  drag  her  to  the  "Russian"  for  the  even 
ing.  She  felt  like  a  traitor  in  neglecting  the  memory 
of  Stanford  for  an  entire  day,  but  consented  reluc 
tantly  to  join  her  comrades  for  an  hour. 

The  house  was  quiet,  and  Tante  Anna  was  dozing 
in  an  easy  chair  in  the  dimly-lighted  drawing-room 
when  Muriel  returned. 

"Is  that  you,  Muriel?" 

For  answer  Muriel  sank  down  on  an  ottoman  at  her 
feet  and  laid  her  head  in  Tante  Anna's  lap. 

"What!  Crying?  Dear  child,  you  are  quite  ex 
hausted;"  and  the  matron  stroked  her  hair  tenderly. 

Muriel  shook  her  head  without  speaking. 

"Well,  what  has  happened  to  you,  dear?" 

"Rivington — he — "  said  Muriel,  with  a  muffled  sob. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  exclaimed  Tante  Anna.  "Rivington 
has  declared  himself!  I  have  seen  it  coming.  Silly 
boy!  He  ought  to  have  known  better." 

"It  was  bad  taste,  I  know,"  sobbed  Muriel. 

"I  referred  to  the  difference  in  your  ages,  my  child." 

"I  am  really  very  advanced,"  retorted  Muriel,  laugh 
ing  with  Tante  Anna  in  spite  of  her  tears. 

"Arna  said,  too,"  she  continued  brokenly,  "that 
Ivan  is  jealous  of  every  man  who  looks  at  me,  and 
is  only  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  insult  poor — 
Rivington,  in  order  to  give  him  a  good  pummelling. 
He  would  kill  him  with  those  great  fists  of  his.  You 
know  he  can  strike  four  notes  over  an  octave." 

Tante  Anna  became  almost  hysterical,  but  Muriel 
talked  on  .with  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 


230  « 'MISS     TEA  UMEREI " 

"That — other  one — had  to  first  spoil  our  delightful 
friendship  by  his — his  indiscretion,"  said  Muriel, 
seeking  a  suitable  phrase  in  compassionate  thought 
of  the  man  who  loved  her  best  of  all.  His  last  words 
haunted  her  night  and  day:  "God  forever  guard  and 
keep  her!"  Once  more  they  were  alone  in  the  dim 
shade  of  the  lindens;  his  sad  upturned  eyes  seemed 
penetrating  her  deepest  consciousness;  his  passionate 
kisses  thrilled  every  nerve-fibre.  Muriel  threw  her 
arms  about  Tante  Anna  to  save  herself  from  the 
memory.  Had  she  not  said  to  him:  "It  can  never 
be."  What  folly  to  indulge  such  thoughts.  But 
he  loved  her  and  was  true,  and  her  life  was  blank 
without  love.  Where  was  Carl?  Had  he  no  ten 
derness  in  his  heart  for  her?" 

Tante  Anna  smothered  her  laugh  to  find  Muriel  so 
desperately  serious ;  but  a  mirthful  outbreak  was  inev 
itable  as  Muriel  added :  "All  the  men  I  like  are  handi 
capping  my  freedom.  If  they  keep  on  like  that  I 
sha'n't  have  a  friend  left!" 

"There  is  Carl,  my  dear!" 

"No  danger  from  him!"  replied  Muriel  promptly. 
Then  her  heart  began  to  beat  so  violently  that  she  was 
embarrassed  for  words. 

"There — there — don't  cry  any  more,  dear!"  said 
Tante  Anna  soothingly,  sobered  by  the  fear  that  she 
had  gone  too  far  in  her  last  statement. 

"True  patriotism  caused  it,"  observed  Muriel,  smil 
ing  through  her  tears.  "The  sky  didn't  do  it's  duty 
to-night ;"  and  she  pointed  to  the  starry  light  without. 
"It  always  rains  the  Fourth  of  July  in  our  country." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Muriel  had  such  a  dislike  for  hysterical  women 
that  she  was  greatly  disturbed  by  her  own  lately 
developed  tendencies.  Sunday  morning  she  awoke 
with  a  determination  to  make  every  effort  to  regain 
her  own  self-respect,  and  she  resolved,  moreover,  that 
the  rest  of  her  stay  in  Weimar  should  be  a  silent 
apology  to  Xante  Anna  for  all  the  anxiety  she  had 
given  her. 

Being  naturally  introspective,  however,  Muriel 
could  not  help  becoming  more  or  less  absorbed  in 
what  she  considered  the  complications  of  her  present 
life.  They  interested  her  this  morning  like  the  intri 
cate  features  of  a  difficult  piano  piece. 

Must  she,  indeed,  pay  a  lifelong  penalty  for  one 
brief  week  of  bliss?  She  tried  to  look  at  Stanford's 
attitude  philosophically.  In  either  case,  might  not 
disappointment  be  inevitable? 

Did  not  ardent  love  matches  end,  as  a  rule,  in  con 
jugal  misery?  "Romanticists,"  some  one  had  written, 
"should  begin  a  novel  with  marriage."  "Could  that 
ever  become  my  romance?"  she  asked,  turning  from 
the  piano  in  the  direction  of  Hohenfels'  miniature 
field  of  action. 

"God  forever  bless  and  keep  her!"  sobbed  the  voice 
of  her  friend.  The  scene  changed.  At  her  feet,  in  the 
dim  shadows  of  the  lindens,  he  knelt,  a  figure  of  dig 
nified,  if  abjectest  despair,  and  beyond  them  stretched 
the  silent  moonlit  meadows.  The  breath  of  new- 


2  3  2  '  *MfSS     TRAUMEREI " 

mown  hay  touched  her  cheeks.  In  measured  chime 
the  palace  clock  announced  the  hour. 

Muriel  recovered  herself  with  a  nervous  tremor. 

"I  may  be  compelled  to  sail  without  revisiting  Wei 
mar."  A  simple  clause  in  the  letter,  but  just  received 
by  Tante  Anna,  recurred  with  stinging  force.  Muriel 
sprang  to  her  feet,  proudly  erect,  as  if  to  face  an  in 
tentional  affront.  At  that  moment  mild-eyed  Gret- 
chen,  bareheaded,  and  in  an  ancient  bedraggled  mili 
tary  great  coat,  paused,  with  muddy  palms,  outside 
the  open  doorway. 

"Even  the  skies  weep  over  his  long  absence,"  she 
said,  in  her  musical  dialect,  placing  her  arms  akimbo 
to  turn  her  face  to  the  warm,  soft  rain.  The  incon 
gruity  of  her  poetic  thought  and  grotesque  appear 
ance  brought  an  involuntary  smile  to  Muriel's  flash 
ing  eyes. 

"Has  Hans  gone  again?" 

"Ach,  Fraulein,  Ach!"  Gretchen  collapsed  with  a 
spasmodic  giggle,  and  headed  for  the  exit. 

With  a  sense  of  suffocation  Muriel  stepped  upon 
the  threshold,  extended  her  palms  to  the  rain  and 
pressed  them  to  her  flushed  face.  Each  cool  touch 
seemed  helping  her  to  still  reviving  memories;  she 
saw  that  the  whole  place  was  redolent  of  a  morbid 
past;  she  longed  to  exchange  the  walled  garden  for 
the  freedom  of  the  hills.  They,  at  least,  looked  off 
somewhere — out  into  the  world,  away  from  heart 
breaking  sorrow.  Yet,  gazing,  in  fancy  from  the 
heights,  upon  the  little  city,  she  could  have  gathered 
it  all  tenderly  in  her  arms  to  implore  forgiveness  for 
that  one  moment  of  infidelity. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  233 

Wo  mein  Herz  und  mein  Lied  sind, 
Da  bin  ich  zu  Haus'. 

Abt's  song1  rang  in  her  ears. 

Hastily  equipping  herself  for  a  walk,  she  was  down 
the  long  path  and  at  the  street  door  ere  she  noted  the 
muffled  thunder  of  the  troops  marching  from  church. 
The  sound  appealed  to  her.  It  belonged  to  the  happy, 
visionary  period  of  her  life.  An  echo  of  its  former 
inspiration  prompted  Muriel  to  watch  for  familiar 
faces. 

"Not  one,"  she  mused,  with  an  overpowering  sense 
of  desolation. 

The  street  was  deserted.  The  rain  trickled  a 
mournful  monotone  from  jutting  eaves.  "Anything 
but  midsummer  in  town,"  she  continued.  "One  day 
like  another — and  each  like  the  day  after  the  funeral !" 

The  palace  loomed  up  like  a  sepulchre  in  the  mist. 
The  sentry  gloomily  measured  his  solitary  paces  be 
fore  the  guard-house. 

"God  forever  bless  and  keep  her!" 

The  stirring  refrain  greeted  every  uniform.  Muriel 
stopped,  perplexed.  She  did  not  actually  wish  to  see 
Hohenfels.  He  was  in  Bad  Berka  to-day,  but  the 
knowledge  of  his  absence  made  the  town  lonelier. 
To  avoid  the  military  quarter,  she  turned  into  the 
mediaeval  streets,  where  the  presence  of  homely 
groups  in  deep  doorways  and  beflowered  windows 
brightened  her  course  to  the  Belvedere  Alice. 

As  she  ascended  from  the  park  lowlands,  an  hour 
later,  near  the  historic  "Tea  House" — a  Goethean 
creation  in  Greek  architecture — a  great-coated  officer 


234  "MTSS     TRAUMEREI" 

coming  out  from  a  shrub-hidden  path  suddenly  inter 
cepted  the  way. 

"I  beg-  pardon,"  he  cried,  with  an  apologetic  salute, 
springing  aside  for  her  to  pass. 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Muriel,  with  a  slight  gasp,  timidly 
offering  her  hand.  "Good-morning!" 

"I — I  was  going  your  way,"  stammered  Count  von 
Hohenfels  irrelevantly,  grasping  her  hand  in  evident 
confusion. 

"Oh!" 

"I  was  only  walking  for — companionship,"  he  said, 
catching  desperately  at  the  last  word. 

"Oh!" 

This  final  reiteration  brought  Muriel  to  herself. 
"Can  I  say  nothing  but  'Oh'?  He'll  think  me  de 
mented  because — because  of  Carl" 

As  they  came  opposite  the  Royal  Gardens  they  saw 
the  Master  leaning  from  an  open  window  and  con 
versing  with  two  women  before  the  house. 

"Ah,  yes!  I  forgot  to  say,"  mumbled  Muriel,  imi 
tating  his  diction — "Arna-and  Mrs.  Trebor!"  she  ex 
claimed,  retarding  her  steps  for  a  careful  look;  nor 
did  she  hasten  after  acquiring  this  bit  of  news — even 
the  freshest  of  news  from  the  Royal  Gardens.  For 
Time  had  raised  her  estimate  of  Hohenfels'  worth. 

His  refined,  handsome  features  and  distinguished 
bearing  impressed  her  singularly  in  her  half-shy 
glances. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  she  asked,  at  the  street  door, 
looking  him  at  last  frankly  in  the  face.  "I  know  that 
Tante  Anna  will  be  pleased  to  see  you." 


« 'MISS     TRA  U MERE  I "  235 

"Thank  you ;  not  now.  I  dine  with  comrades  at  the 
'Erbprinzen'  in  five  minutes.  As  an  officer  I  must  be 
punctual.  My  greetings  to  Frau  von  Berwitz. 
Adieu!" 

Grace  remarked  the  happy  light  in  his  eyes. 

"Aufwiedersehen!"  she  said,  quickly. 

"Aufwiedersehen!"  he  responded,  with  still  bright 
ening  countenance,  waiting  to  close  the  door. 

"Aufwiedersehen !  Aufwiedersehen !  Aufwieder- ' 
sehen!"  sang  unseen  voices  with  every  stride  towards 
the  old  Market  Square.  The  day  grew  brighter. 
"The  sun?"  he  said,  and  glanced  upward.  The  fine 
warm  rain  moistened  his  face  and  fell  in  spray  on  his 
weather  coat.  There  was  something  friendly  to  him 
even  in  that  damp  touch  of  the  heavens.  Were  they 
offering  congratulations?  Happy  illusion! 

"What  has  come  over  you,  old  fellow?"  asked  his 
neighbor,  von  Jahn,  at  dinner.  "Up  at  the  barracks 
you  looked  as  if  you  had  lost  your  last  friend.  An 
hour  later  you  emanate  beams  of  light  that  would 
turn  the  sun  green  with  envy,  should  that  curtain  of 
mist  suddenly  lift." 

"Aufwiedersehen!"  pealed  the  unspoken  response. 
"Aufwiedersehen!  Aufwiedersehen!"  sang  invisible 
choirs.  "Aufwiedersehen!"  flamed  in  giant  letters 
against  the  festive  walls.  "Aufwiedersehen !"  branded 
cloth  and  plate,  and  sparkled  in  the  amber  depths  of 
his  glass. 

Futurity  smiled  at  him  through  "Aufwiedersehen!" 
and  every  thought  melted  into  the  sweetest  of  ca 
dences,  "Aufwiedersehen!" 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

A  rubber  at  whist  with  Liszt,  Arna  and  Ivan,  after 
the  lesson  on  Tuesday  afternoon,  caused  Muriel  to 
miss  a  call  from  Hohenfels. 

Surmising  her  disappointment,  Tante  Anna  said 
that  he  purposed  attending,  the  next  afternoon,  the 
weekly  band  concert  at  the  Erholungsgarten — an 
exclusive  open-air  resort  controlled  by  a  union  of  the 
best  social  elements  of  the  city. 

Muriel  said  that  she  would  go,  too.  Then  she 
wouldn't — she  would — she  wouldn't — and  finally  de 
cided  to  go,  after  recalling  a  saying  that  a  woman 
never  knew  her  own  mind,  because  she  had,  at  first, 
impulsively  accepted  Tante  Anna's  invitation. 

In  a  moment  of  inspiration  she  posted  a  note  to 
Rivington  (who,  after  his  ill-fated  proposal,  had  gone 
to  Eisenach),  half-commanding  him  to  be  of  their 
party,  adding  that  he  had  been  too  silly  to  be  hu 
mored,  that  he  must  come  home  and  behave  like  a 
rational  boy  of  nineteen,  unless  he  wished  to  be  re 
ported  to  Liszt. 

Foreseeing  no  quicker  cure  for  his  malady,  she  was 
not  surprised  to  have  him  ushered,  with  abashed 
countenance,  into  the  music-room,  just  as  she  was 
completing  her  after-dinner  hour  at  the  piano  on 
Wednesday. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said.    "I  shall  prove  my  gallantry 

by  telling  you  that  it  was  all  your  fault!" 

336 


"MISS     TRAUMERE1"  237 

"There,"  Muriel  raised  a  hand  in  protest,  "that  was 
worthy  the  palmy  days  of  the  Altenburg.  I  don't  be 
lieve  that  anything  more  than  pianistic  excellence  is 
required  to  make  you  a  worthy  Lisztianer  of  this  gen 
eration!" 

An  irresistible  laugh  put  Rivington  at  his  ease,  and 
Muriel  had  gained  another  friend. 

"Listen!"  And  gliding  across  the  room,  Muriel 
stopped  under  the  rose-canopy  at  the  threshold. 

Music  from  the  Erholungsgarten  on  the  hilltop 
floated  sweetly  distinct  across  the  Urn.  A  single  cor 
net  was  playing  Schubert's'  "Serenade."  Day  faded 
into  night;  a  shaded  lamp  filled  the  room  with  a  rosy 
glow,  and  the  listeners  bowed  their  heads  in  silent 
rapture. 

"And  my  heart  for  thee  is  yearning;  bid  it,  love,  be 
still!"  A  tremor  broke  into  Muriel's  sober  expression 
as  the  voice  sighed  its  last  tender  appeal. 

"Bid  it,  love,  be  still!" 

Neither  Muriel  nor  Rivington  seemed  to  breathe 
through  the  soundless  pause. 

Sweet  mignonette  and  heliotrope  mingled  with  the 
scent  of  roses ;  a  bee  hummed  unnoticed  dangerously 
near  Muriel's  head.  The  portentous  outline  of  a 
creeping  shadow  startled  her  to  consciousness.  Her 
heart  leaped  as  if  to  rend  its  bonds.  She  dared  not 
look  up  and  betray  her  joy.  A  decided  footfall  on  the 
gravel  demanded  recognition.  Catching  her  breath, 
she  turned  expectantly. 

Arna  Trebor  bounded,  with  a  peal  of  silvery  laugh 
ter,  upon  the  step  before  her.  Muriel's  face  was  a 


238  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

curious  study,  and  Arna  remarked  it.  "I  was  over 
there,"  said  Muriel,  recollecting  herself  and  indicat 
ing  the  Erholungsgarten.  Arna  knew  better,  but  said 
nothing,  and,  presently,  with  her  mother  and  Tante 
Anna,  they  all  went  to  the  concert. 

A  never-ending  stream  of  promenaders  was  already 
in  possession  of  the  labyrinthian  ways  of  the  garden, 
and  infringing  upon  the  territory  allotted  to  coffee- 
drinkers.  Tante  Anna's  party  surrounded  a  capacious 
table  in  a  latticed  summer-house,  in  full  view  of  the 
animated  scene,  as  Mrs.  Trebor  feared  the  slightest 
exposure  to  cold  for  her  daughter.  "Arna  must  be 
careful,"  she  said,  "being  subject  to  rheumatism  in  her 
arms,  which  is  fatal  to  her  playing." 

Four  dapper  young  officers,  followed  by  the  admir 
ing  gaze  of  all  the  women  folk,  left  the  promenade  to 
join  Tante  Anna's  group.  They  were  Count  von  Ho- 
henfels,  and  three  footlight  worshippers  of  the  fas 
cinating  violinist,  who  eagerly  bunched  their  stools 
in  her  vicinity,  ready  to  absorb  her  enthralling  smiles 
and  chuckle  over  her  sparkling  witticisms. 

With  consummate  tact  the  Count  gave  Muriel  that 
tender,  non-committal  deference  which  some  women 
love. 

Rivington  showed  a  disposition  to  make  the  best  of 
the  new  order  of  things  in  his  devotion  to  the  two 
matrons. 

In  this  friendly  harmony  Muriel  began  to  expe 
rience  that  same  subtle  thrill  of  ecstacy  which  sub 
lime  music  gave  her  after  a  period  of  deprivation. 
The  strains  of  the  band  spoke  directly  to  her  soul ;  she 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  239 

even  removed  her  gloves  to  enjoy  the  sympathy  of 
her  clasped  hands.  Life's  joys  were  once  more  hers ; 
the  horizon  of  the  future  receded  to  the  infinite. 

The  convivial  glass  at  length  replaced  coffee-cups, 
and  Xante  Anna  embroidered  industriously  to  the 
time  of  tuneful  measure. 

A  mellow  warmth  lay  in  the  sun's  dying  rays;  the 
incense  of  flowers  stole  in  through  vistas  of  this  fair 
Saxon  land,  so  rich  in  its  music  and  wit.  The  souls 
of  Goethe,  of  Schiller,  of  Herder,  of  Wieland,  and  of 
Liszt  seemed  to  animate  the  scene  and  enhance  those 
salient  characteristics  which  had  given  little  Weimar 
an  international  renown. 

Muriel  reflected  with  divided  affection  upon  a 
choice  of  homes.  Here,  brain  and  heart  throbs  met 
unfailing  response;  over  there — his  home!  Disturbed 
by  the  sad  reminder  of  sweet  days  gone,  she  turned 
to  the  diversions  of  a  side  vista  in  the  arbor,  where 
promenaders  came  up  from  the  valley. 

Suddenly  Muriel  became  deadly  pale. 

Hohenfels,  with  eyes  for  her  face  only,  said  softly: 
"What  is  the  matter?" 

Feigning  not  to  hear,  Muriel  carelessly  studied  her 
programme. 

Hohenfels  watched  the  color  sweep  over  her  face. 

"How  warm,  to-day,"  she  observed  indifferently, 
pressing  her  handkerchief  to  her  brow. 

Hohenfels  saw  her  glance  furtively  at  Frau  von 
Berwitz,  who  hearkened  with  half-bowed  head  to  the 
music. 

Looking  up  as  a  foot  scattered  the  gravel,  the 


240  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

matron's  eyes  rounded  in  astonishment  Without 
lowering  her  glance,  she  deftly  shifted  the  embroidery 
onto  the  table  and  left  the  arbor. 

For  some  inexplicable  reason  Hohenfels  found 
himself  watching  her  with  uneasy  interest.  He  saw  a 
procession  of  boarding-school  misses,  arm  in  arm, 
leisurely  ascending  the  promenade.  Then  a  dis 
tinguished-looking  stranger  in  fashionable  London 
attire  entered  the  open  space,  scrutinizing  the  gather 
ing  opposite  the  arbor. 

"Mr.  Stanford!"  exclaimed  Arna  and  Mrs.  Trebor, 
in  a  breath,  as  Tante  Anna  stopped  him. 

Hohenfels  observed  the  happiness  fade  from  his 
rival's  face  when,  after  a  well-tempered  reception,  Mu 
riel  gave  strict  attention  to  the  music,  for  the  slight 
noise  of  Stanford's  reception  had  raised  a  series  of 
hisses  from  without.  Even  in  the  ensuing  pause 
she  delayed  only  long  enough  to  make  some  care 
less  inquiries  about  his  unexpected  arrival,  before  re 
suming  conversation  with  Hohenfels. 

After  more  music  a  general  scurrying  of  young 
people  towards  the  assembly-rooms  indicated  the 
evening  programme.  Nevertheless,  other  groups 
than  Tante  Anna's  lingered  at  the  tables,  when  the 
commanding  rhythm  of  the  dance  and  the  dull  tread 
of  feet  announced  the  opening  polonaise.  A  waiter 
came  to  take  orders  for  supper,  and  then  they  all  went 
for  a  stroll  about  the  grounds. 

Stanford  naturally  remained  at  Tante  Anna's  side; 
but,  upon  their  return,  he  laid  hold  of  the  chair  next 
to  the  one  he  had  chosen,  and  offered  it  to  Muriel, 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  241 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  graciously,  moving  up  to 
the  table.  Noticing  that  there  was  no  vacancy  for  the 
Count  near  them,  she  slipped  the"  chairs  closer  to 
gether  and  made  a  place  for  him  on  her  left. 

Balmy  twilight  merged  into  as  balmy  night,  and  a 
delicate  silver  crescent  rose  in  the  calm  blue  sky.  Dis 
tant  music,  descending  feet,  glasses  clinking  in  tune 
ful  unrhythm,  sepulchral  "prosits"  and  soft  feminine 
laughter,  rose,  died  and  fitfully  resounded  above  the 
ceaseless  murmur  of  many  voices. 

When  Tante  Anna  gave  the  signal  to  disperse,  Ho- 
henfels  naturally  started  off  at  Muriel's  side.  She  had 
never  once  left  him  out  of  the  conversation,  even 
when  Stanford  attempted  to  monopolize  her.  In 
truth,  in  spite  of  his  direst  misgivings  about  Stan 
ford's  renewed  visit  at  the  old  mansion,  Hohenfels 
found  himself  thinking  with  involuntary  pride  of  Mu 
riel's  unwavering  partisanship. 

After  bidding  the  Trebors  good-night  in  the 
shadow  of  the  darkened  palace,  he  accompanied  her 
to  their  door.  At  their  approach  Gretchen's  Hans 
sped  out  of  the  black  arch  and  hobbled  away  over  the 
rough  paving. 

"Thuringia  was  created  for  lovers,"  observed  Stan 
ford,  looking  after  him  as  they  came  to  a  halt,  and 
Muriel,  glancing  up  at  Hohenfels  with  a  happy  "Gute 
Nacht,"  added  "Aufwiedersehen !" 

Then  a  wing  of  the  great  door  suddenly  fanned 
Tante  Anna's  face  as  Gretchen's  musical  giggle  and 
light,  tripping  step  receded  towards  the  inner  court. 
Stanford  tarried  to  turn  the  great  key  and  bar  the 


242  MISS     TRAUMEREr 

door,  but  Muriel  went  on  to  help  the  maid  light  the 
lamps  in  the  vestibule. 

"Oh,  no!  Not  yet!"  exclaimed  Stanford,  coming  in 
with  a  vexed  expression,  to  find  her,  lamp  in  hand. 

"You  need  rest" 

"I  assure  you,  I  do  not,"  he  insisted,  earnestly. 

"You  are  too  polite  to  admit  it,"  retorted  Muriel, 
with  a  gay  laugh  and  a  shake  of  the  head.  "Good 
night!  Good-night,  Tante  Anna!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"Of  course  you  are  glad!"  said  Gretchen  in  an 
anxious  whisper.  "Haven't  you  told  the  whole  neigh 
borhood  by  this  time?  Go 'way!  Go 'way!  Sh!  Sh!" 
With  a  vicious  flap  of  her  apron  at  the  sparrows  cir 
cling  above  her  head,  the  maid  ran  for  a  mop. 

"To  the  fountain!  Over  there — by  the  church. 
You'll  get  enough  to  drown  you  there — and 
I  hope  you  will,  too!"  Rubbing  vigorously  at 
the  droppings  from  the  pump,  Gretchen  gave  a  final 
"Sh!"  and,  lifting  the  watering  pot,  she  crossed  the 
court  muttering:  "Of  course  you  are  glad;  we  are 
all  glad  he  has  come; -but  this  is  no  time  to  serenade 
him!  Why,  it's  a  half-hour  early  for  even  me,  you 
stupids!" 

"Mariechen,"  toddling  eagerly  from  the  round 
apron  to  smother  her  cries,  and,  closely  followed  by 
the  mother,  rebounded  into  the  garden. 

Gretchen,  springing  back,  rolled  the  baby  into  her 
apron  to  smother  her  cries,  and  rebounded  into  the 
garden,  closely  followed  by  the  mother. 

"Ach!  Mein  Gott!  Mein  Gott!  You— miserable— 
Oh,  Frau  Schulze,  Frau  Schulze,"  gasped  poor  Gret 
chen,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that — that — 

"Here,  take  her  away!"  the  mother  said  placidly  to 
Elsa. 

"It  all  comes  of  my  getting  up  before-times  to  have 

everything  nice  for  him,  too!"  mourned  Gretchen. 
243 


244  '  'MISS     TEA  UMEREI " 

"How  is  he?"  inquired  the  neighbor,  fumbling  in  a 
capacious  pocket  for  her  knitting. 

"Just  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Gretchen,  suddenly  for 
getting  her  sorrows;  and  placing  her  arms  akimbo, 
she  looked  her  readiness  for  a  chat. 

"Ach!  it  is  so  lovely  to  have  him  here  again!  A 
household  of  women — no  men — it  is  not  life,  Frau 
Schulze." 

"You  are  evidently  not  cut  out  for  an  old  maid," 
observed  the  neighbor. 

"God  forbid!"  ejaculated  the  girl  fervently.  "Why, 
when  he  went  away  my  ladies  became  so  melancholy 
that  there  was  no  staying  in  the  house  with  them." 

"So  I  heard." 

"Heard?"  repeated   Gretchen,  sweetly.     "Heard?" 

"Say,  Frau  Schulze,"  she  said,  suddenly  transformed 
by  curiosity,  "who  told  you  that  Hans  was  back?" 

A  ringing  laugh  was  the  response. 

"Ach!"  whispered  Gretchen  tremulously.  "Our 
Fraulein!  Our  Fraulein!" 

Grasping  the  watering  pot  in  one  hand  and  Frau 
Schulze's  sleeve  in  the  other,  she  tiptoed  in  long 
strides  to  the  remotest  corner  of  the  garden. 

"You  see,"  said  the  maid  resignedly,  beginning  her 
work,  "she  hasn't  been  very  well  since  he  went  away, 
and  Frau  von  Berwitz  cautioned  me  about  disturbing 
her  of  a  morning." 

"Now,  say,  Frau  Schulze,"  she  continued  impa 
tiently,  "who  told  you  about  Hans?" 

"Frau  Schwartz." 

"There!     I  thought  it!     The  old  vixen!     She  is 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  245 

always  watching  us  from  behind  her  window  cur 
tains!" 

Muttering  a  popular  threat,  the  maid  gave  the 
direction  of  the  obnoxious  matron's  residence  as 
black  a  look  as  her  comely  features  would  express, 
and  proceeded,  with  a  softened  expression  at  mention 
of  Hans,  to  tell  her  story : 

"I  thought  that  Hans — I  thought  Hans  never 
would  return.  He  had  been  working  for  Herr 
Muller  ever  since  finishing  his  military  term,  and  was 
offered  more  salary  if  he  would  remain  another  year, 
but  he  had  not  seen  the  old  folks  in  four  years  and 
said  that  he  would  first  go  home  for  a  week's  visit. 
That  was  in  June.  The  night  before  he  left  we  had 
a  quarrel,  a  little  quarrel — our  first — and  parted  in 
anger. 

"'Never  mind,  Fraulein  Gretchen,'  said  he,  'you 
will  repent  this!'  and  turned  on  his  heel  without  even 
a  'good-bye.' 

"  'Ach  Gott!'  thought  I,  'he  is  just  stubborn  enough 
to  make  it  hard  for  me,'  and  he  did. 

"Two  weeks  passed  without  my  seeing  or  hearing. a 
word  of  him. 

"'Ach  Gott!  Ach  Gott!'  thought  I,  'that  is  what 
he  meant  about  my  repenting,'  for  I  knew  that  his 
father  had  been  coaxing  him  to  work  in  their  town. 

"Well,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  should  never 
again  see  him,  when  Frau  von  Berwitz  sent  me  to 
the  Rathhaus  Restaurant  on  an  errand  last  Monday 
night  a  week  ago,  and — we  ran  face  to  face  in  the 


246  "MfSS     TRAUMEREI" 

doorway.  He  made  out  not  to  see  me,  and  looked 
straight  over  my  head. 

"  'Herr  Je!'  thought  I,  'two  can  do  that!' 

"The  next  night  I  was  sitting  out  in  the  big  door 
way  watching  the  children  romping  in  the  street, 
when  he  came  walking  by,  smoking  his  pipe.  I 
turned  my  face  away,  but  out  of  the  corners  of  my 
eyes  I  could  see  him  look  at  me. 

"Pretty  soon  he  came  back,  and  quite  near,  too,  but  I 
kept  on  looking  up  the  street  like  1  hadn't  heard  him. 
When  he  got  to  the  beer  hall  he  turned  round  and 
walked  straight  back  to  me.  Then  I  looked  away 
again  and  saw  Frau  Schwartz  hiding  behind  the  cur 
tains. 

"  'Good  evening,'  he  said. 

"  'Good  evening,'  said  I,  and  I  looked  up  surprised, 
and  not  a  bit  glad,  either. 

"'Will  you  not  shake  hands?'  said  he,  for  you  see 
I  had  taken  no  notice  of  his  hand  when  he  put  it  out. 

"'Have  you  been  away?'  said  I,  as  if  I  had  not 
noticed  his  absence,  and  I  gave  him  my  hand." 

"Well?"  inquired  Frau  Schulze. 

"Oh,  that  old  Frau  Schwartz  was  watching  and 
spoiled  it  all,"  said  Gretchen  vexedly,  "for  he  wouldn't 
let  it  go,  and " 

"And  what?" 

"What?  Why— nothing." 

"Nothing?     Aren't  you  going  to  marry  him,  now?" 

"Marry  him?  Marry  him,  Frau  Schulze?  Why, 
of  course!  You  don't  think  that  I  would  flirt  with  a 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  247 

man,  do  you?  But  of  course  it  won't  be  until  after 
our  American  and  the  young  Fraulein  are  married. 
Frau  von  Berwitz  couldn't  break  another  girl  in  by 
that  time,  and  I  wouldn't  leave  her  in  the  lurch  when 
so  much  is  doing." 

"Married?"  gasped  Frau  Schulze  meanwhile.  "Mar 
ried?  When  was  their  engagement  announced?" 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Gretchen,  simply. 

"Then  how  do  you  know  it?" 

"Frau  Schulze/'  said  Gretchen,  dropping  the  water 
ing-pot  to  resume  her  favorite  attitude,  "if  I  had  had 
only  a  quarter  of  an  eye  instead  of  two  good  whole 
ones,  I  could  have  told  you  that  a  month  ago." 

"Then  you  think  they  will  be  married  right  off?" 

"Of  course!"  said  Gretchen  in  surprise;  "what's  to 
hinder?  They  are  both  rich;  not  poor  like  Hans 
and  me,  who  have  got  to  lay  by  a  bit  first." 

"Well,"  observed  the  neighbor,  resuming  her  knit 
ting  with  an  incredulous  look,  "the  first  thing  they 
will  have  to  do  will  be  to  get  engaged." 

"Leave  that  to  either  one  of  them!"  retorted  Gret 
chen  wisely. 

"Gretchen  Stemmler!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
your  Fraulein  would  propose  to  him?" 

"No!  certainly  nbt,  Frau  Schulze!"  replied  Gretchen 
indignantly,  "but  a  girl  can  sort  of — of — help  a 
man  toward  saying  it,  can't  she?  Don't  I  know? 
Ach!" 

"Don't  we  all  know?"  said  Frau  Schulze,  who  was 
more  interested  in  the  prospective  nuptials  than  in 
her  companion's  chagrin. 


248  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI ' ' 

"But  say,  aren't  they  going  to  give  an  entertainment 
to  announce  the  betrothal?" 

"Of  course!"  exclaimed  Gretchen,  clapping  her 
hands  in  glee.  "Of  course!  I  had  quite  forgotten 
that.  What  a  grand -affair  it  will  be,  too,  with  our 
Fraulein  to  do  the  ordering?  And  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz  will  have  to  wear  her  black  satin,  with  the  long 
train  and  low  neck,  which  she  wears  at  court,  and  all 
the  family  jewels.  Mein  Gott!  it'll  be  beautiful!" 

"And  the  Fraulein?" 

"Oh,  she'll  have  a  new  dress  from  Berlin — all 
white — and  she  has  such,  wonderful  things,  too !  You 
remember  the  new  dress  she  brought  me  in  June? 
It  is  heavenly!  And  she  paid  for  the  making  of  it, 
too.  Ach!  the  Fraulein  is  stone  rich!" 

"All  Americans  are,"  said  Frau  Schulze. 

"So  they  say,"  remarked  Gretchen  absently. 

•"Depend  upon  it,"  she  continued,  with  under 
standing,  "everything  will  be  of  the  finest.  I  don't 
see  but  the  Rammans  will  have  to  take  full  charge  of 
the  refreshments  after  all,  for  we'll  have  enough  to 
do,  Frau  Schulze,  in  looking  after  the  floral  decora 
tions  and  the  guests." 

"Mary  and  Joseph!"  ejaculated  the  elder  of  the 
two,  lapsing  into  her  southern  dialect,- "what  a  crowd 
there  will  be!" 

"No,  there  won't,"  said  Gretchen  emphatically. 
"Meister  Liszt  hates  a  crowd,  and  he'll  be  the  first  in 
vited;  and  he'll  kiss  them  both  and  bless  them!  It 
will  be  wo'rth  something,  too,  you  know,  for  he  is  an 
Abb?!" 


"MISS    TRAUMEREI"  249 

"Then  we  will  have  all  the  Lisztianer,  the  Fraulein. 
Stahr,  Herr  Hofrath  Gille,  from  Jena,  Her  Hoforgan- 
ist  Gottschalg,  Fraulein  Panzer,  Count  von " 

"Whew!  Nay,  Frau  Schulze,  that  won't  do.  He's 
in  love  with  our  Fraulein  himself.  Now,  how  are  we 
to  manage  that?  Poor  man!  How  he  will  feel!  But 
we  can't  leave  him  out.  He's  a  friend  of  the  family, 
and  the  Countess,  his  mother,  is  a  school  friend  of 
Frau  von  Berwitz." 

"Well,"  continued  Gretchen,  with  a  sigh,  "I  sup 
pose  it'll  have  to  be.  Then,  there  are  the  young  offi 
cers  who  visit  our  Fraulein  sometimes,  the  von  Ilsen- 
steins,  the  von " 

"Mariechen !"  called  Stanford's  voice,  not  ten  paces 
away. 

Gretchen's  knees  almost  gave  way  in  her  fright. 
"Herr  Je!"  cried  she  and  Frau  Schulze  in  a  breath, 
and,  grasping  the  watering-pot,  the  maid  hid  her  face 
at  work. 

"The  black  man!  The  black  man!"  articulated 
Mariechen  between  terrified  shrieks,  for  Stanford  had 
caught  her  bending  over  a  pansy  bed  in  disobedience 
to  Elsa's  warning  of  her  fate,  and  was  tossing  her 
above  his  head. 

Roused  by  his  voice  from  the  most  restful  sleep 
of  weeks,  Muriel  stole  to  her  vine-sheltered  window 
in  time  to  see  him  pacify  the  little  one  on  his  shoul 
der,  and  to  hear  the  mother  say :  "Ach !  dear  sir,  she 
has  done  nothing  but  prattle  about  you  and  wish  for 
your  return," 


Yielding  to  a  delicious  languor,  Muriel  closed  her 
eyes  to  the  scene  without  Her  thoughts  were  with 
Stanford,  and  soon  she,  too,  was  with  him,  by  the  Ilm, 
crossing  the  stone  bridge  and  passing  on  through  the 
Park.  He  did  not  seem  to  see  her,  but  she  lost  sight 
of  no  fleeting  change  of  expression  as  she  glided  by 
his  side  past  the  broad  lawns  before  Goethe's  cottage. 
The  birds  were  singing,  the  flowers,  the  shrubs,  the 
long  grass  and  trees  were  nodding  him  welcome. 

The  rapture  of  Nature's  joy  shone  in  his  face — 
an  involuntary  response,  but  to  her — to  her  alone — 
she  knew  that  he  dedicated  consciousness  and  each 
warm  heartbeat.  At  Ober- Weimar  she  heard  him  say, 
"No,  the  other  way,  it  is  shorter  to  her,"  and,  taking 
another  direction,  he  came  to  a  rustic  bridge  over  the 
Ilm  in  the  upper  park. 

Above  him,  great  trees,  intertwining  their  branches, 
arched  the  length  of  the  stream ;  below,  escaping  sun 
beams  danced  on  the  silent  waters ;  and,  as  he  looked, 
a  grey-bearded  boatman,  gliding  noiselessly  from  be 
neath  the  bridge,  found  mooring  at  the  foot  of  a 
giant  oak  and  stepped  upon  the  mossy  bank.  De 
scending  the  knoll,  Stanford  accosted  the  stranger. 

250 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  251 

"Is  your  boat  to  let?"  he  repeated,  having  received  no 
response. 

The  man  stood  like  a  statue.  Passing  him  a  coin, 
Stanford  stepped  into  the  boat  and  pushed  into  mid 
stream.  Silently  the  weird  boatman  watched  him 
round  the  bend  in  the  river. 

Still  gliding  along  the  river  path,  Muriel  saw  Stan 
ford  lay  down  his  oars  to  watch  the  gold-fish  dart 
affrightedly  from  their  shallow  pools  near  shore,  as 
his  boat  troubled  the  placid  surface.  Serenely  he 
floated  on  through  alternating  sunlight  and  shadow, 
past  the  familiar  haunts  of  his  childhood. 

The  stream  broadened  beneath  a  clear  sky,  and 
from  either  bank  weeping  willows  dipped  in  the  rip 
pling  tide.  Absorbed  in  thought,  he  failed  to  notice 
the  landscape  flit  more  and  more  rapidly  by. 

"Will  he  not  see?"  Muriel  held  her  breath  in  an 
agony  of  suspense.  "Is  there  no  one  else  to  warn 
him?"  She  tried  to  call,  but  her  voice  died  in  her 
throat.  Wringing  her  hands  in  frenzy  she  sped  madly 
along  the  low  bank;  but  faster  still  and  stronger 
flowed  the  current. 

The  distant  thunder  of  mighty  waters  now  rose 
and  swelled  until  the  earth  trembled  beneath  her  feet. 

"Save  him!  Save  him!"  shouted  a  familiar  voice 
from  the  high  bridge  concealing  the  fall  before  the 
palace.  A  military  form  sprang  down  the  steep  bank 
as  Stanford  struggled  for  the  oars.  They  snapped 
at  the  first  touch  of  the  resistless  current.  In  wild 
alarm  he  half  rose  and  turned  toward  the  shore.  He 
lifted  his  arms  in  mute  appeal  to  her — to  her  who 


252  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

was  powerless  to  save  him !  The  fragile  bark  rose  on 
the  last  billow,  and,  with  a  look  of  unutterable  love,  he 
disappeared  in  the  mist  overhanging  the  yawning  gulf. 

Muriel  fell  forward  towards  the  flood.  Strong 
arms  caught  her;  the  same  familiar  voice  sounded  in 
her  ear;  then  darkness  came  on,  and  the  scent  of  new- 
mown  hay  filled  the  air. 

"God  always  guard  and  keep  her!"  whispered  an 
echo  of  the  past.  "God  save  her  now,"  was  the  low- 
spoken  word,  and  she  recognized  Hohenfels'  face 
dimly  in  the  moonlight. 

A  shadow  fell  on  the  meadows.  Muriel  trembled 
as  if  an  icy  hand  had  touched  her;  tears  blinded  her 
eyes ;  a  cold  perspiration  bedewed  her  forehead,  and  the 

crown  of  her  head  seemed  scorched  by  a  burning  sun. 
*.  --f  *  *  * 

Half-dazed  and  startled,  Muriel  knew  not  where 
she  was.  Yawning  gulf — resistless  current!  How 
vivid  the  vision  seemed!  Slowly  the  familiar  sur 
roundings  came  again  before  her.  She  thought  of 
the  gentle  Urn  as  it  falls  before  the  old  bridge  at  the 
palace.  Would  not  the  Weimeraner  laugh  if  they 
knew  its  dream-transformation.  But  alas!  What 
could  it  mean?  Was  it  a  warning?  And,  overcome 
by  her  old  fear  of  the  water,  she  shuddered  as  if 
chilled  by  an  icy  wave. 

"Am  I  unnerved  from  over-practice,"  she  thought. 
"Must  I  then  leave  Weimar  and  its  ideal  musical  life? 
Oh,  no!  Not  yet,  not  yet!"  And  the  song  rose  in 
voluntarily  to  her  lips: 

\Vo  mein  Herz  und  mein  Lied  sind, 
Da  bin  ich  zu  Haus'. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Wo  mein  Herz  und  mem  Lied  sind, 
Da  bin  ich  zu  Haus', 

sang  Muriel,  adapting  the  rhythm  to  her  steps  as 
she  came  through  the  Cloister. 

"  'Wo  mein  Herz  und  mein  Lied  sind.'  Humph !" 
observed  Gretchen,  looking  up  with  sparkling  eyes 
as  she  bore  her  cumbersome  tray  across  the  court. 
"It's  the  first  time  the  Fraulein  has  sung  since  he  left 
us  for  London.  Frau  Schulze  will  believe  me  straight 
off  the  next  time  I  tell  her  anything." 

"Leave  Weimar  now?"  mused  Muriel,  as  they  tar 
ried  long  after  breakfast  under  the  old  plum-trees. 
"Leave  Meister  and  these  memorable  reunions?  Miss 
one  of  them?  Ah,  no!  'Wo  mein  Herz  und  mein 
Lied  sind,  Da  bin  ich  zu  Haus' "  and  she  lapsed  into 
placid  enjoyment  of  Stanford's  voice  as  he  read  from 
the  morning  paper  words  which  she  did  not  heed. 
Indeed,  the  day  passed  like  a  dream.  She  felt  as 
lazy  as  Mime  habitually  looked  when  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz  reminded  her  at  coffee  in  the  summer-house 
that  she  and  Carl  were,  even  then,  due  at  the  Royal 
Gardens. 

The  season  there  had  attained  its  zenith.  Dis 
tinguished  musicians  from  abroad,  newly  initiated 
Lisztianer,  courtiers  and  literary  celebrities  filled  the 
rooms  to  suffocation.  Though  Meister  presided  with 
the  utmost  grace  and  suavity,  Muriel  detected  a  fleet 
ing  expression  of  annoyance  at  the  overwhelming 


254  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

numbers  when  he  was  finally  left  alone  with  his  whist 
party.  A  quieting  rubber  relaxed  the  tense  muscles 
of  his  face;  and  when,  at  his  request,  Stanford  sang 
Schubert's  Serenade,  Muriel  felt  that  some  of  her  own 
happiness  repaid  the  dear  old  man  for  his  long, 
weary  day. 

Then,  while  the  garden  lay  in  shadow,  and  cooling 
breezes  stirred  through  the  rooms  they  told  him 
good  night  and  passed  out  into  another  dream 
world. 

At  the  Alice  gate,  Muriel  looked  at  the  sky  and  then 
at  her  watch.  "I  think,"  she  said,  "that  Tante  Anna 
will  be  waiting  tea  for  us.  Mr.  Stanford  and  I  would 
better  take  the  short  cut  home.  Good  night,  all. 
Remember,  Arna,  at  nine  o'clock." 

Muriel's  spirits  rose  as  they  entered  the  romantic 
gloom  of  the  park.  Stanford  became  moody,  al 
most  silent.  Instinctively  she  knew  the  burden  of 
his  mind,  and  with  a  woman's  last  vanishing  instinct 
of  self-protection  she  plied  him  between  hope  and  de 
spair,  between  ecstasy  and  misery,  and  between  de 
cision  and  afterthought,  until  she  saw  this  master 
singer,  this  leader  of  men,  trembling,  all  but  suppliant 
before  her. 

"Why  do  you  not  speak?"  said  her  eyes. 

"How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing?"  contra 
dicted  her  eyes,  and  all  the  while  the  tenderness  of 
her  nature  seemed  to  envelope  him  like  a  magic  charm 
to  ward  off  any  pain  or  evil  which  others  might  in 
flict. 

So,  held  in  check  by  Muriel's  subtle  counterplay, 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  255 

Stanford  reached  the  old  mansion  with  the  dream 
of  his  heart  unspoken. 

Rivington  came  with  Arna  and  Mrs.  Trebor  be 
fore  they  rose  from  supper;  and  following  them 
Count  von  Hohenfels  and  his  three  comrades  of  the 
Erholung's  party.  Arna,  with  her  violin,  received 
the  homage  due  to  a  goddess ;  when,  at  last,  she  low 
ered  her  bow  after  playing  an  obligate  for  Schubert's 
Serenade,  eleven  strokes  from  the  castle  tower  floated 
in  from  the  garden  door  to  call  the  end  of  another 
Weimar  day. 

Historic  Weimar!  What  music — what  great  works 
have  been  your  heritage  since  Goethe  and  Schiller 
first  gave  you  immortality!  What  is  your  future? 
Where  the  genius  to  perpetuate  traditional  glory?  Is 
it  even  now  at  your  threshold,  or  will  generations  un 
born  still  ask — where?  Glory  like  yours  is  not  for 
barter.  Fate  alone  controls  it. 

Stanford  was  left  talking  with  the  young  officers 
at  the  street  door. 

Muriel  could  hear  the  voices  as  she  waited  for  him 
at  the  drawing-room  window.  With  her  chin  on 
her  folded  arms  she  was  studying  the  stars  and  hum 
ming  softly,  "Du  meine  Seele,  du  mein  Herzen,"  un 
mindful  of  the  conversation.  "Words  are  sacrilege 
in  such  a  silence,"  she  mused  again,  as  the  clank  of 
sword  and  spur  grew  faint  in  the  street  and  ascending 
steps  came  nearer;  "only  not  his — they  are  music — 
like  his  song." 

"Where  is  Tante  Anna?"  Muriel  leaned  back  in 
her  chair. 


256  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Coming!"  responded  a  voice  without,  and  foot 
steps  died  in  the  gallery.  Stanford  entered  lightly, 
and  pushing  an  ottoman  towards  the  window,  placed 
himself  at  her  feet.  "What  a  glorious  sky,"  he  whis 
pered. 

"Yes,"  said  Muriel,  following  the  direction  of  his 
gaze. 

Tante  Anna  did  not  return,  the  city  had  gone  to 
sleep,  and  they  were  alone  in  the  intoxicating  silence 
of  the  night. 

"How  divinely  Arna  plays,"  murmured  Muriel  at 
last,  with  an  echo  of  bewitching  melody  in  her  voice. 

Stanford  turned  quickly.  Though  both  were  deep 
in  shadow,  Muriel  felt  the  intensity  of  his  eyes.  "No 
more  so  than  you,"  he  remarked  gently. 

"That,"  she  said  impulsively,  "that  is  the  first  com 
pliment  you  have  ever  paid  my  music." 

"Don't  you  know  why?" 

"No." 

"It  is  because  I  care  so  much  more  for  you — for 
you  yourself,"  he  repeated,  with  a  passionate  throb  in 
his  voice,  "That — that — the  music — is  quite  another 
thing!  You  don't  mind  my  telling  you,  do  you?"  he 
asked  eagerly,  seeing  that  she  had  drawn  back  in  her 
chair. 

"No,"  said  Muriel,  in  an  easy  tone,  prolonging  the 
word  as  if  under  consideration.  "No,  why  should  I?" 

"I  hoped  you  would  not,"  he  said,  rather  gravely, 
"for  I  am  going  to  ask  still  more  of  you — that — 
you  will  never  send  me  away  from  you — never — so 
long  as  we,  both  of  us,  live!" 


<'MISS     TRAUMEREI"  257 

"I  never  have  done  that,"  she  said,  very  gently. 

"Would  you?" 

Muriel  listened  to  the  distant  rumble  of  wheels. 
Her  watch  seemed  racing  with  her  heart.  She  no 
ticed  that  a  moth  'fluttering  to  death  in  the  lamp  sent 
shadows  flickering  on  the  patch  of  light  from  the 
corridor.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said  with  effort,  and 
took  hold  of  the  arms  of  her  chair. 

"Could  you,  knowing  that  I  am  miserably  unhappy 
away  from  you — that  you  are  life  itself  to  me?" 

Muriel  could  not  withstand  the  loving  entreaty  of 
that  voice;  his  eyes  seemed  piercing  her  heart;  she 
felt  as  if  she  should  suffocate  unless  she  escaped  the 
spell  of  his  influence. 

"We  have  known  each  other  so  short  a  time," 
she  answered  evasively. 

"And  I  have  waited  a  lifetime  for  you.  Will  you 
keep  me  waiting  now?" 

"Waiting?" 

"To  be  my  wife — my  better  self." 

"And  my  heart  for  thee  is  yearning,"  sang  the 
stars.  "Bid  it,  love,  be  still.  Bid  it,  love,  be  still." 
Why  did  the  night,  the  stars,  and  the  sapphire  sky 
waft  back  those  inspired  words?  Why  did  all  Na 
ture  lend  him  aid,  but  to  fulfill  the  decree  of  the  in 
evitable?  How,  then,  could  she  resist  his  pleading? 
How  withhold  the  love  which  was  his  by  divine  right 
and  hallowed  by  every  throb  of  her  heart.  "I  know, 
I  know,"  cried  her  Mentor,  "but  not  quite  yet. 
That  which  is  lightly  won  is  lightly  valued.  Raise 
objections.  There  are  none,"  reflected  Muriel  in  con- 


258  "MISS     TRAUMEREl" 

sternation.  "It  was  meant  to  be  from  the  beginning." 
"Remember  your  ardor,  then,  in  planning  his  diver 
sions."  "Certainly!" 

Muriel  straightened  up  with  maidenly  modesty. 

He  saw  the  movement,  and  he  brought  his  eyes 
nearer  that  she  might  read  there  the  love  which  his 
lips  expressed  in  words  so  tender  that  she  dared  not 
longer  look  and  listen. 

"Remember!"  spoke  her  Mentor. 

"You  haven't  a  better  friend  living,"  she  said  gently 
at  last,  when  all  thought  of  argument  failed  her.  "But 
— again  she  looked  to  the  night  for  strength;  a 
breath  of  new-mown  hay  touched  her  face;  the 
meadows  were  white  in  the  moonlight,  and  a  voice 
was  whispering:  "God  forever  bless  and  keep  her!" 

The  horror  of  her  dream  suddenly  chilled  her. 

"Let  me  think  about  it,"  she  said  at  last,  calmly. 
"Marriage  is  too  serious  to  arrange  hastily.  When  I 
give  my  hand  I  give  my  life  and  all  that  it  holds." 

"I  know  it,"  interposed  Stanford  in  such  worshipful 
tones  that  Muriel  faltered  and  turned  away. 

"I  cannot  say  Yes,"  she  said,  "and  leaving  every 
other  consideration  out  of  the  question  I  have  too 
high  a  regard  for  you  to  say  No  without  reflection. 
Give  me  time  to  think." 

Again  he  interrupted  with  gentle  pleading. 

"Give  me  time  to  think,"  said  Muriel,  with  unswerv 
ing  decision,  but  so  gently  that  Tante  Anna,  coming 
through  the  vestibule,  could  not  hear  voices.  "I  will 
tell  you  on  Saturday  night.  Let  us  not  refer  to  it  in 
the  mean  time." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

During  his  two  days'  probation,  Tante  Anna  took 
no  apparent  notice  of  Stanford's  altered  manner. 
Gretchen  was  not  supposed  to  see  it,  but  to  Muriel 
there  was  a  touching  appeal  in  the  atmosphere  of  in 
definable  tenderness  which  seemed  to  hover  about 
him. 

The  security  of  his  promise  to  not  renew  his  suit  be 
fore  the  following  evening  was  Muriel's  sole  strength 
in  the  intoxication  of  that  idyllic  first  day.  The 
clock  in  the  castle  tower  chimed  the  echoes  of  her 
heart's  song,  and  only  the  waning  light  told  of  fleet 
ing  time  as  they  lingered  in  the  summer-house,  after 
coffee,  while  Tante  Anna  slumbered  over  her  em 
broidery. 

"Dear  Helene!"  exclaimed  Muriel,  with  new  sweet 
ness  in  her  voice.  "It's  her  birthday,  C !" 

"Almost — but  not  quite!"  Tante  Anna's  eyes, 
sparkling,  responded  to  her  frightened  glance. 

"It  would  have  ruined  everything  had  I  said  Carl 
then!"  reflected  Muriel,  her  cheeks  flaming.  Stanford 
looked  supremely  happy  and  suggested  verbal  con 
gratulations  at  once. 

"And  I  haven't  ordered  even  a  flower!"  she  said, 
thinking  of  the  gifts  forgotten  in  her  room. 

"We  will  get  some  at  the  widow's  on  our  way,"  ob 
served  Stanford,  "for  I  did  not  mean  to  forget  Helene, 

either." 

359 


2  6o  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

"Nor  Anna,  dear  Carl,"  interposed  Frau  von  Ber- 
witz,  as  Muriel  turned  self-consciously  towards  the 
garden  in  memory  of  the  cause  of  their  forgetfulness. 
"You  will  find  all  Helene's  presents  duplicated,  for  no 
one  thinks  of  giving  to  one  and  not  the  other.  If 
an  ornament,  it  would  never  be  worn;  for  they  dress 
alike,  talk  alike,  and  do  everything  alike." 

"Two  birthdays  a  year,"  remarked  Stanford,  with  an 
amused  expression.  "That  is  racing  with  history." 

"Arna's  birthday  falls  on  St.  Valentine's  day,"  said 
Frau  von  Berwitz,  rising  to  go  with  them  to  the 
house. 

"That  keeps  them  young.  Anna  and  Helene  will 
never  grow  old  if  they  each  live  to  be  a  hundred,"  ob 
served  Muriel.  "It's  the  way  their  hearts  are  made." 
"Why  should  I  mention  hearts,"  she  reflected,  going 
in  advance  to  escape  Stanford's  eyes.  "I  shall  be 
wearing  mine  on  my  sleeve  next  thing!"  And  Muriel 
fancied  she  had  donned  her  mask. 

At  the  artistic  home  in  Schwannseestrasse,  gifts 
from  two  continents  were  exhibited;  one  gift  having 
special  prominence,  for  it  was  accompanied  by  con 
gratulations  in  the  Master's  characteristic  hand.  His 
disciples  indeed  crowded  the  music-room  where 
Anna  and  Ivan  were  playing  his  Fourteenth  Hun 
garian  Rhapsody.  Flowers  galore  freighted  the 
air  with  perfume,  and,  in  the  front  row  of  chairs,  the 
sisters  Stahr,  like  Saint  Cecilias,  gazed  devoutly  upon 
the  faces  of  the  two  artists. 

Pressed  to  end  the  impromptu  programme,  Stan 
ford  sang  Beethoven's  "Adelaide"  in  a  way  to  make 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  261 

Muriel's  fingers  tremble  on  the  keyboard.  Then,  as 
Ivan  was  declaring  it  a  "revelation,"  Stanford  lent  his 
glorious  voice  to  the  chorus  "Hoch  soil  sie  leben," 
sung  to  a  final  clicking  of  glasses  with  "Das  Geburts- 
tagskind." 

"You  missed  the  afternoon,"  said  Ivan  to  Muriel 
and  Stanford,  when  only  the  comrades  of  the  Rus- 
sischer  Hof  remained  with  the  Fraulein  Stahr.  "You 
must  spend  the  evening  with  us.  We'll  sup  some 
where." 

"Tiefurt!"  cried  the  chorus. 

"Not  the  castle,"  remonstrated  Ivan.  "Nothing 
but  clabber  and  eggs.  I  prefer  beer  and  something 
to  eat." 

"The  Rosenkranz,"  cried  one,  with  a  romantic  pref 
erence  for  the  verdant  terrace  and  the  ceaseless  roar 
of  the  mill-dam. 

"Better  beer  at  the  Felsenkeller,"  observed  Ivan, 
with  authority. 

They  stopped  at  the  old  mansion  for  Frau  von 
Berwitz.  Again  "Das  Geburtstagkind"  was  toasted, 
and  then  they  sauntered,  pairwise,  out  the  grand  old 
Chaussee  to  the  vineclad  hillside,  where  the  arbored 
garden  of  the  Felsenkeller  gave  vistas  of  lowland  and 
park.  Another  birthday  party,  overflowing  the 
hovise,  taxed  the  resources  of  the  modest  hostelry. 

"Hunger  makes  the  best  soldiers,"  observed  Ivan, 
leading  a  raid  on  the  kitchen. 

Hands  destined  to  command  by  their  magic  the' 
homage  of  an  entire  musical  world  ere  another  an 
niversary  of  Helene's  birth,  prepared  the  feast.  Then 


262  <  'MISS    TRA  UMEREI " 

"Das  Geburtstagkind"  rose  into  prominence  as  night 
closed  round  the  illuminated  board.  During  a  series 
of  toasts  Moritz  digressed  to  extol  Ivan's  general 
ship  and  to  predict  an  equally  brilliant  future  for  him 
as  "head  waiter,"  did  he  choose  to  end  bis  planetary 
career  in  the  art-world.  Later  the  infectious  pleas 
ure  of  Terpsichorean  revellers  indoors  drew  strag 
gling  devotees  from  the  table  to  the  confines  of  the 
ball-room,  and,  eventually,  there  came  an  invitation 
from  the  host  for  the  Lisztianer  to  join  the  party. 

In  and  out  of  the  circle  of  waltzers  flew  Anna's  and 
Helene's  many  ribbons,  and  the  flowing  locks,  loose 
neckerchiefs  and  velvet  jackets  of  the  ultra  artists; 
but  just  as  the  recruits  were  breathing  the  inspiration 
of  the  dance,  the  pianist  succumbed  to  fatigue. 

"Sapprement!"  ejaculated  Ilmstedt  in  annoyance. 
"Is  our  fun  to  be  spoiled  by  that  woman?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Moritz  good-naturedly,  re 
placing  her  at  the  rickety  instrument. 

Again  the  ribbons,  artistic  locks  and  velvet  jackets 
floated  in  mazy  grace;  now  faster,  now  slower;  then 
whirling  till  onlookers  grew  dizzy  watching  the  crowd 
spin  by. 

"It  is  called  'rubato'  in  music,"  observed  Muriel,  as 
she  and  Stanford  halted  for  breath.  "Inability  to 
keep  time,"  growled  Ilmstedt,  as  his  compatriot,  a  dis 
ciple  of  Brahms,  whom  he  opposed,  took  such  liberties 
with  the  tempo  that  the  bravest  dancer  left  the  floor. 

"There  never  was  one  of  a  genuinely  artistic  tem 
perament  who  could  play  for  dancing,"  said  Muriel 
in  defence  of  her  colleague. 


"AffSS     TRAUMEREl"  263 

"Indeed,  Fraulein!"  exclaimed  Ivan  in  mock  'in 
dignation.  "See  you,  now,  what  a  machine  I  can  be." 
Waving  Moritz  to  the  dancers  he  began  a  wild  galop. 

"The  Tartar  blood  in  him,"  remarked  Moritz,  as 
he  and  Helene  gave  up  a  breathless  flight.  "He  fan 
cies  himself  on  the  Steppes — taking  a  new  one  at  each 
bound." 

Hearing  the  laughter,  the  Russian  glanced  at  the 
empty  floor.  With  a  fascinating  obeisance  to  the 
pianist,  he  acknowledged  his  defeat  by  offering  his 
arm  and  returning  her  to  the  office  in  which  her  sense 
of  rhythm  was  more  effective  than  his  superior  art. 

The  dance,  the  long,  happy  return  over  the  hard, 
white  Chaussee,  the  last  tender  good-nights  were 
ended,  and  Muriel  was  once  more  alone  with  the 
night — her  night,  which  she  loved  more  than  day  in 
Weimar,  where  it  spoke  in  poetic  measure  to  heart 
and  mind.  Life,  indeed,  had  become  nothing  less 
than  a  poem — a  caress  of  the  senses. 

Only  one  sad  minor  strain  varied  the  calm  music 
of  her  thoughts.  Again  the  heavy  scent  of  flowers, 
the  moonlight  silvering  the  tree-tops  and  whitening 
the  meadows;  again  pale  in  the  gloom  beyond  the 
lindens,  a  maiden  standing  before  a  kneeling  figure. 
"Farewell ;  God  forever  bless  and  keep  her,"  sounded 
through  the  night-silences.  And  the  clock  that 
chimed  the  midnight  tolled  the  knell  of  a  heart  as 
fond  as  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Another  day  in  dreamland.  Another  lesson  at  the 
Royal  Gardens,  and  Muriel  was  in  the  longest  twi 
light  of  her  life. 

Meister  had  asked  her  to  remain  with  Arna  and 
Stanford  for  a  rubber  at  whist. 

Whist!  Music  was  fit  accompaniment  for  her  rev 
eries,  but  whist!  Whist  meant  concentration  of 
mind. 

Impossible! 

Meister  selected  card  players  as  he  did  pianists. 
Heaven  protect  the  one  who  made  a  false  play! 

Muriel  assorted  her  cards  with  infinite  pains.  "Dry, 
stupid  game,"  she  reflected,  as  she  spread  them  fan- 
shaped.  "Why  didn't  he  ask  Carl  to  sing?' 

Oh,  du  entrissne  mir  und  meinem  Kusse 
Sei  mir  gegrtisst,  sei  mir  gekusst. 

Ah,  that  divine  voice,  that  heavenly  strain!  He 
had  first  sung  it  for  her  here — in  this  room,  and  how 
jealous  she  had  become  of  Meister! 

Muriel  smiled  absently  at  her  cards. 

"Your  lead,  Miss  Traumerei,"  said  Ivan,  looking 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  Master's,  her  partner's,  face. 
The  latter  laughed  spasmodically,  for  he  loved  the 
boy's  genial,  if  fiery,  nature. 

Muriel  begged  pardon  and  threw  down  a  club. 
Meister  played  the  ace,  and  Stanford,  casting  the 

deuce  of  hearts,  put  out  his  hand  to  claim  the  cards. 

264 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  265 

"No — No!"  said  Muriel,  stopping  him.  "Meister 
took  that  trick." 

"Hearts  are  trumps,  Fraulein  Muriel,"  said  Stan 
ford  quietly.  "I  shuffled  for  this  game." 

Divining  the  double  import  of  the  retort,  the  Meis 
ter  laid  down  his  cards  and  removed  his  spectacles  in 
order  to  laugh  with  abandon. 

"Second  hand  low;  third  hand  high,"  Muriel  con 
stantly  admonished  herself  in  fear  of  a  misstep,  and 
then  it  came  again  her  time  to  lead.  "Hearts  are 
trumps,  Fraulein  Muriel;  I  shuffled  for  this  game," 
was  all  she  could  recall.  "What  did  he  trump?"  she 
reflected  in  confusion.  Meister  looked  at  her  across 
the  board.  Down  went  the  king  of  clubs  at  a  ven 
ture.  Arna  and  Meister  smiled  faintly  as  they  played, 
and  then  Stanford  laid  down  a  trump. 

"Hearts  are  trumps,  Fraulein  Muriel;  I  shuffled  for 
this  game,"  flashed  through  her  mind.  "Ah!  she 
gasped,  and  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  recall  the  cards. 

"Too  late,"  said  Stanford,  sweeping  them  in. 

"A  desired  opponent,"  observed  the  Master,  look 
ing  helplessly  at  her.  "Really,  a  desired  opponent!" 
and  he  delayed  them  long  enough  to  hear  a  fitting 
anecdote. 

"Now  we  resume  with  equal  chances,  'Desired  Op 
ponent';  I  have  confused  everybody,"  he  said,  taking 
up  his  cards  and  adjusting  his  spectacles. 

Arna  insisted  upon  his  telling  anecdotes  after  the 
last  trick  was  decided,  adding  that  he  was  taking  un 
fair  advantage  of  his  opponents  by  this  digression, 
which  bit  of  pleasantry  amused  the  Master  to  the  ex- 


266  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

tent  of  another  five  minutes,  and  they  played  their 
hands  out  as  best  they  could. 

Meister's  capital  spirits  were  further  improved  by  a 
few  puffs  at  his  favorite  cigar,  which  Mrs.  Trebor  had 
kept  lighted  on  a  broad,  flat  shell  of  historic  renown. 

"Meister,"  said  Ivan,  "Fraulein  Bittergrass 

"The  celebrated  bas  bleu!"  interposed  the  Master 
impressively. 

— and  sister  were  below  as  I  came  in  for  the  les 
son." 

"Mischka  did  his  duty,  I  presume?"  said  the  Master 
grimly. 

"Their  faces  indicated  as  much,"  observed  Ivan 
drily.  In  fact,  I  fear  that  their  disappointment  lay 
mainly  in  losing  the  opportunity  of  illustrating  to  you 
their  dress  reform." 

The  Master  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"They  shimmered  in  black  alpaca  and  a  sort  of 
enameled  armor — a  travesty  in  collars  and  cuffs." 

The  Master  gave  a  prolonged  laugh.  "They  are, 
nevertheless,  worthy  women — worthy  women,"  he  as 
serted,  with  a  will  to  be  just,  "but —  "  An  eloquent 
gesture  supplied  the  idea.  "Some  years  ago  I  at 
tended  the  National  Musical  Festival  at  —  — — . 
One  evening  a  choral  work  of  mine  occupied  the  first 
half  of  the  programme.  During  the  ensuing  pause 
a  number  of  acquaintances  came  to  my  box  to  ex 
change  a  word  with  me,  and  amongst  them  Fraulein 
Bittergrass  and  sister  and  the  great  Pumpernickel!" 
Giving  a  mock  reverence  at  this  mention  of  an  un 
loved  pupil,  whose  nickname  had  outlived  his  patro- 


' '  MISS     TRA  UMER  El"  267 

nymic  in  Weimar,  he  continued :  "Every  one  left  but 
this  picturesque  trio.  I  hadn't  asked  them  to  stay. 
I  didn't  want  to  ask  them  to  go.  However,  they 
made  themselves  comfortable  in  the  front  chairs.  In 
stantly  every  lorgnette  in  the  house  was  levelled  at 
them.  They  leaned  their  elbows  on  the  cushioned 
railing  and  faced  the  audience  without  flinching.  The 
worst  of  it  was  they  wore  their  red  Garibaldis.  Some 
misguided  person  brought  them  as  presents  from 
Rome  twenty-five  years  before,  and  the  sisters  had 
never  discarded  them." 

"Nah!  'Desired  Opponent,'  it  is  our  chance,"  said 
Meister,  glancing  at  his  cards. 

How  the  music  coursed  through  her  memory  as 
she  half  listened  to  their  badinage: 

Das  Meer  erglanzte  weit  hinaus 

Im  letzten  Abendscheine, 
Wir  sassen  am  einsamen  Fischerhaus, 

Wir  sassen  stumm  und  alleine. 

It  was  her  heart  singing — singing  because  it  could 
not  keep  still.  They  could  not  hear  it.  No!  it 
sang  in  her  own  world — her  own  dear  world  of  the 
ideal — the  songs  he  had  made  her  love!  None  could 
see;  none  could  know;  and  her  heart  went  singing: 

Der  Nebel  stieg,  das  Wasser  schwoll, 

Die  Mowe  flog  bin  und  wieder, 
Ausdeinen  Augen  liebevoll 

Fielen  die  Thranen  nieder. 

Something  like  a  mist  came  between  her  eyes  and 
the  cards.  The  trump  on  the  table  before  her  was 
blurred  red,  she  observed,  as  Arna  led  off.  "I  shuf 
fled  for  this  game,"  occurred  to  her.  "Hearts  are 


268  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

again  trumps,  Herr  Carl!"  The  reflection  interrupted 
the  song,  but  the  music  floated  on  softly  with  her 
thoughts. 

"Oh  dear,"  said  Muriel,  leaning  over  the  table  to 
see  the  cards.  "What  are  they?" 

Meister  has  another  pair  of  spectacles  on  the  writ 
ing  desk,"  remarked  Ivan  in  his  mellow  voice.  "Shall 
I  fetch  them  for  you?" 

"No,  thanks,"  responded  Muriel,  "but  you  may 
lower  that  blind  a  trifle,  if  you  will.  The  light  is 
right  in  my  eyes."  "Dear  Ivan,"  she  reflected, 
"What  a  good,  big-hearted  boy  he  is — if  he  did 
kick  over  the  camera  on  Rivington's  account;  but 
we  baffled  him  after  all."  She  was  thinking  of  the 
group  as  they  appeared  out  on  the  carpet  of  daisies. 
"I  would  try  my  fortune  with  one  of  them,  if  I  had 
one." 

"But  why?  Don't  I  know  already  that  he  loves 
me?" 

"Ich  mochte  ziehen  in  die  Welt  hinaus:  hinaus  in 
die  weite  Welt,  wenn  all  so  grim —  The  music 

and  the  cards  mingled  in  hopeless  confusion. 

Leise  flehen  meine  Lieder 
Durch  die  Nacht  zu  dir, 

hummed  Ivan  softly. 

Muriel  turned  in  surprise. 

"What  is  it?"  said  the  Master,  thinking  he  had 
missed  something. 

"I  was  serenading  the  Fraulein,"  said  the  boy  good- 
naturedly. 

"Did  you  think  me  asleep?"  said  Muriel. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  269 

"No,"  replied  Ivan;  "I  simply  wished  to  see  if  I 
had  caught  the  theme  of  your  latest  rhapsody." 

"Meditation,"  interposed  Arna,  by  way  of  cor 
rection. 

"No — rhapsody,"  maintained  Ivan.  "I  never  say 
'meditation'  since  hearing  what  a  price  Gounod  paid 
for  his.  The  Master  laid  down  his  cards  in  anticipa 
tion  of  a  droll  story. 

"Heinrich  Urban  told  me  about  it  last  spring  in 
Berlin,"  continued  Ivan.  "A  compatriot,  a  piano  stu 
dent,  who  occupied  a  room  above  Gounod's  apart 
ment  in  Paris,  was  given  to  practice  one  day  the  first 
prelude  from  Bach's  'Well-Tempered  Clavichord.'  He 
began  at  nine  in  the  morning,  and  was  still  playing  it 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  Gounod,  who 
was  in  a  creative  mood,  and  had  gone  vainly  from 
room  to  room  in  trying  to  write,  snatched  up  his  hat 
in  a  rage  and  rushed  from  the  house.  The  faster 
Gounod  walked  the  more  the  prelude  haunted  him. 
Suddenly  above  its  droning  rose  a  melody  of  such  di 
vine  beauty  that  as  it  developed  in  his  brain  it 
sounded  like  a  voice  from  Heaven.  Hastening  home 
he  recorded  it  above  its  accompaniment,  the  prelude, 
and  to-day  singers  know  it  as  the  'Ave  Maria'  and 
violinists  as  the  'Meditation'  of  Gounod." 

"And  now,  Miss  Traumerei,"  said  the  Russian,  with 
an  engaging  obeisance,  "will  you  give  us  your  rhap 
sody?" 

"Ivan!  Ivan!"  observed  the  Master,  with  smiling 
reproof.  "Leave  Miss  Muriel  alone,  or  I  shall  come 
to  her  defence." 


270  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

"I  think,  Meister,  the  severest  penalty  would  be  to 
make  him  play  out  my  hand,"  and  Muriel  insisted  that 
Ivan  should  take  her  place.  "I  am  too  dull  to  play 
to-day,"  she  whispered  to  Meister,  as  she  came  around 
to  sit  by  Mrs.  Trebor.  "I'll  retrieve  my  reputation 
as  a  card  player  next  time.  I  don't  wish  to  deprive 
Mr.  Rivington  of  his  pet  pseudonym." 

"Oh,  he  is  no  longer  the  'Desired  Opponent/  "  ex 
claimed  the  Master,  turning  to  tap  the  shoulder  of 
her  compatriot,  who  was  watching  his  play  from  the 
other  side.  "He  has  become  an  artist — under  tui 
tion!" 

It  came  the  Master's  turn  to  deal.  Then  the  first 
hand  round  disclosed  the  ace,  deuce,  trey  and  four  of 
diamonds  on  the  table. 

"Wait!"  cried  Ivan,  pointing  at  the  cards.  "Tra 
dition  says:  'Kiss  the  dealer!'  Is  it  true,  Meister, 
that  Beethoven  came  upon  the  platform  at  your  first 
concert  in  Vienna  and  kissed  you  upon  the  fore 
head  ?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Master,  in  surprise.  "I  re 
member  it  well." 

"Which  was  the  spot?"  inquired  the  Russian,  mov 
ing  as  if  to  rise. 

"Please  don't  tell,  Meister,"  interposed  Muriel,  with 
sudden  animation,  "unless  you  wish  it  to  become  as 
celebrated  an  osculatory  Mecca  as  St.  Peter's  toe  at 
Rome!" 

It  had  been  a  typical  midsummer  day,  but  it  was 
very  pleasant  in  the  street  as  they  came  through  town 
together  at  eight  o'clock.  The  groups  on  the  corners 


• '  MISS     TEA  UMEREI "  271 

and  in  doorways  eyed  admiringly  the  "Lisztianer,"  and 
especially  the  idol  of  the  public,  sweet  Arha  Trebor. 
Since  the  day  that  Liszt's  presence  had  made  Weimar 
the  home  of  pianists,  the  inhabitants,  in  according 
that  guild  their  curious  attention,  paid  also  to  the 
Master  their  richest  homage  for  maintaining  the 
reputation  for  great  learning  which  Goethe  and  Schil 
ler  had  first  given  the  old  capital. 

For  once  in  her  life  Muriel  was  glad  to  part  with 
the  Lisztianer.  Just  now  they  were  superfluous,  and 
as  for  the  townspeople,  their  curiosity  always  of 
fended  her. 

It  seemed  an  interminable  time  since  she  and  Stan 
ford  left  Tante  Anna  in  the  summer-house,  for  each 
delay  postponed  the  hour  for  which  they  both  waited 
with  beating  hearts.  The  clock  in  the  castle  tower 
chimed  eight  as  they  crossed  the  silent  court  and  en 
tered  the  garden. 

"Guests!"  exclaimed  Stanford  with  a  shadow  of  dis 
pleasure  in  his  voice  as  they  neared  the  summer-house. 
"Women  and  a  uniform!" 

"Count  von  Hohenfels,"  said  Muriel,  "and — and — 
Fraulein  Panzer!" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  'tis  I,"  exclaimed  the  little  Canary 
Bird,  springing  forward  to  meet  them.  I  have  run 
over  from  Berka  for  the  night,  and  Anna  insisted  that 
Fritz  and  T  should  remain  for  tea." 

There  was  music  after  supper.  Hohenfels  played 
— though  he  carefully  avoided  improvisations — and 
Stanford  sang  as  if  his  life  hung  upon  the  art  of 
song. 


272  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

With  what  different  emotions  Muriel  listened  to 
the  last  tender  appeal  of  the  serenade: 

And  my  heart  for  tliee  is  yearning, 

Bid  it,  love,  be  still ;    bid  it,  love,  be  still! 

He  had  sung  it;  he  had  spoken  it,  and  again  sung 
it  before  claiming  his  answer.  Now  he  only  waited 
the  departure  of  the  guests.  They  were  gone.  Tante 
Anna  stood  with  them  on  the  lower  terrace — and, 
then,  she  too  was  gone. 

The  night  was  all  their  own  for  a  brief  moment. 
Music  floated  in  from  the  distance.  The  garden  was 
all  moonlight  and  shadow — shadow  and  moonlight, 
from  the  summer-house  to  where  the  vine-grown 
gable  cut  the  deep-toned  sky.  The  perfume  of 
flowers  bore  enchantment  in  its  breath.  Words  would 
not  come  in  that  intoxicating  silence. 

Muriel  turned  her  face  to  the  stars.  The  earth 
had  vanished  in  darkness,  and  heaven  was  theirs! 
-No!  not  ''theirs" — her's — for  he  was  waiting  silently 
at  her  side  until  she  bade  him  follow.  Muriel's  heart 
beat  madly.  What  should  she  say?  How  should 
she  say  it?  Why  did  he  not  help  her?  Yet  how? 
Had  he  not  asked  the  question?  Was  it  not  for  her 
to  answer? — that  night — now — in  that  moment? 
Where  were  the  finely-wrought  phrases  to  make  diffi 
cult  his  way?  Where  the  courage  to  argue  a  point 
which  her  heart  had  long  since  yielded?  Where"  the 
thought  to  foster  speech? 

This  was  their  world — life  suspended  and  silence 
between  them?  What  was  he  thinking?  Why  did 
he  not  stir?  Was  it  really  he,  or  was  it  a  dream?  A 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  273 

dream?     "No!"  cried  her  bounding-  heart.     "He  is 
waiting  for  me!     Look!" 

Ah,  that  look!  It  held  his  life!  Resolutions  were 
forgotten!  Their  world — the  garden — was  moon 
light  and  shadow;  the  air,  the  perfume  of  flowers;  and 
time  had  gone  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Frau  von  Berwitz,  in  her  best  morning  cap,  was  as 
non-committal  as  Hans  in  a  fit  of  stubbornness. 
Gretchen  watched  her  dress  the  breakfast  table  in  the 
"parade"  silver  and  china  and  the'  choicest  flowers 
from  the  garden,  with  ai  white  boutonniere  on  one 
plate  and  a  big  white  bouquet  on  another.  Eight 
chimes  from  the  castle  tower  pealed  out  like  wedding 
bells  as  Muriel  and  Stanford,  returning  from  their 
walk  over  the  hills,  came  into  the  central  aisle. 

Frau  von  Berwitz  hastened  forward  to  embrace 
and  kiss  them  both.  Gretchen  wrung  her  hands  in 
transport,  and  made  a  dash  for  the  court. 

"Frau  Schulze — Frau  Schulze!"  she  gasped  with 
each  bound  up  the  spiral  stairway.  "It's  done!  It's 
done!  Just  take  a  peep  Into  the  garden,  and  don't 
tell  a  soul!" 

The  ceiling  and  floor  of  the  old  gallery  danced  con 
gratulation  as  she  bounced  toward  the  kitchen  where 
the  tea-kettle  sang  and  rocked,  and  even  her  heavy 
soles  struck  music  from  the  paving-stone  when  she 
started  back  with  her  bounteous  tray. 

Gretchen  stopped  nervously  at  the  garden  thresh 
old.  Enter?  Meet  their  eyes?  Never!  She  would 
surely  laugh — or  cry!  Which — which?  The  china 
on  the  tray  began  to  rattle;  she  leaned  against  the 
wall  for  support;  the  precious  burden  seemed  going 


274 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  275 

from  her  grasp — followed  by  all  her  savings — and  re 
tarding  the  union  with  her  beloved  Hans. 

Gretchen  recovered  herself  and  entered  the  garden 
with  the  utmost  intrepidity,  just  in  time  to  hear  the. 
Fraulein  call  the  American  "Carl."  The  Fraulein 
blushed  rosy  red  and  looked  so  pretty  that  Gretchen 
thought  the  American  quite  right  to  look  his  happi 
ness.  After  breakfast  her  mistress  told  her  that  they 
would  be  married  in  September,  but  that  she  must 
not  tell  even  Hans  for  the  present.  Only  Herr  Doc 
tor  Liszt  should  know  it,  and  the  young  couple  were 
going  to  the  Royal  Gardens  for  his  blessing  at  noon. 
This  secrecy,  she  suspected,  had  something  to  do 
with  Count  von  Hohenfels,  for  he  came  and  made 
music  with  the  others  of  an  evening  as  heretofore,  and 
then  she  would  lead  Hans  to  the  garden  door  to  hear 
their  American  sing  with  all  his  heart  in  his  grand 
voice. 

"It  went  on  up — and  up,"  she  said  one  morning  to 
the  Fraulein,  "until  it  seemed  that  it  must  reach 
Heaven  itself." 

Tears  filled  the  Fraulein's  eyes  as  she  said:  "You 
are  right,  Gretchen.  I  am  sure  that  it  has  been  heard 
there." 

"With  the  angels'  voices,"  said  Gretchen  solemnly. 
"That  is  why  it  is  so  sweet." 

To  her  great  astonishment  the  Fraulein  threw  her 
arms  about  her  while  she  laughed  away  the  tears; 
and  then  Gretchen  could  scarcely  credit  her  senses 
when  the  Fraulein  told  her  that  she  would  give  her  a 
dower  of  five  hundred  marks  if  she  would  stay  with 


2  76  '  -MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

Frau  von  Berwitz  until  she  had  fully  recovered  from 
the  fatigue  of  the  grand  wedding  in  September. 

The  days  passed  like  a  dream.  No  task  seemed 
labor.  The  old  mansion  contained  all  of  heaven 
that  they  desired,  until  one  morning — over  a  week 
after  the  betrothal — the  postman  brought  letters  while 
they  breakfasted  in  the  garden.  Gretchen  will  never 
forget  the  look  which  came  into  the  American's 
face,  nor  the  look  which  came  into  all  their  faces 
when  he  told  them  that  his  return  by  the  next  steamer 
for  New  York  was  imperative;  that  it  concerned  the 
business  which  had  brought  him  over,  and  that  he 
would  have  to  take  the  one  o'clock  train  in  order  to 
catch  the  Bremen  boat  next  day. 

The  Fraulein  was  the  quietest  of  them  all.  She 
only  grew  white  and  said:  "It  is  your  duty,  Carl. 
Go — and  return  as  quickly  as  possible,  or — Tante 
Anna  and  I  will  come  to  you." 

"Indeed  we  will,  my  child,"  said  the  mistress 
gravely.  "But  I  hope  it  may  not  be  necessary." 

Then  they  all  became  cheerful,  but  in  such  a  way 
that  Gretchen  had  to  slip  into  the  court  to  cry,  out  of 
sorrow  for  them.  After  an  early  dinner  she  packed 
them  safely  into  a  carriage  and  returned  to  the  house 
to  avoid  seeing  him  drive  away,  for  it  was  such  bad 
luck! 

The  Fraulein  meant  to  be  very  brave.  She  re 
sumed  her  practicing;  she  took  long  walks  alone,  and 
returned  to  her  gay  circle  of  an  evening.  But  Gret 
chen  saw  her  growing  paler  and  more  nervous  every 
day.  What  long,  weary  days  they  were,  too,  wait- 


"AffSS     TRAUMEREJ"  277 

ing — waiting — waiting  for  the  cable  to  announce  his 
safe  arrival. 

"In  seven  days  we'll  hear  from  him — in  six  days — 
in  five  days — in  four  days/'the  Fraulein  continued  to 
say  each  morning  at  breakfast;  and  once  Gretchen 
heard  her  refer  to  a  dreadful  dream  she  had  had,  and 
to  her  terror  of  the  ocean.  But  when  she  began  to 
cry  softly  Frau  von  Berwitz  pretended  to  be  angry 
with  her  for  courting  such  a  foolish  superstition,  and 
the  Fraulein  dried  her  eyes. 

"They  must  have  been  sighted  off  Fire  Island  last 
night,"  she  said  another  morning  at  breakfast.  "If 
they  catch  the  tide  and  get  over  the  bar,  they  will  be 
landing  about  our  dinner  hour." 

"In  event  of  a  good  voyage,"  said  Frau  von  Ber 
witz;  "you  must  allow  for  delay." 

"Even  then  we  ought  to  get  word  by  midnight,  at 
latest,"  replied  the  Fraulein. 

Midnight  came — one  o'clock — and  then  Frau  von 
Berwitz  said  that  waiting  wouldn't  work  the  cable  for 
them.  But  the  Fraulein  did  not  sleep  all  night,  and 
after  breakfast  she  went  to  the  railway  station  to  in 
vestigate  the  delay. 

Another  night  of  sleepless  waiting,  and  the  Frau 
lein  wired  the  steamship  company  at  Bremen  for 
news.  The  boat  had  not  been  reported  from  New 
York. 

A  third  night — none  in  the  house  slept.  Morn 
ing  was  as  dark  as  the  shadow  over  their  hearts.  Rain 
began  to  fall  before  daylight  and  continued  through 
out  the  early  morning.  The  Fraulein  did  not  even 


2  7  8  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

go  to  her  music-room,  but  sat  in  a  drawing-room 
window  with  her  big,  sad  eyes  fixed  upon  the  street, 
watching  for  the  messenger  who  did  not  come. 

Frau  von  Berwitz  had  left  her  alone  a  few  mo 
ments  as  Gretchen  came  into  the  dining-room  to 
tend  the  geraniums.  In  bending  over  the  sill  Gret 
chen  noticed  Frau  Schwartz  cross  the  street  and  stop 
under  the  window  where  the  Fraulein  sat.  The  rain 
had  ceased.  In  her  hand  Frau  Schwartz  held  an 
open  paper. 

"Ach,  Fraulein,"  said  the  woman,  looking  up, 
"everybody  is  so  sorry  to  hear  it,  for  he  was  such  a 
handsome,  grand  young  man." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  the  Fraulein  in  a  fright 
ened  voice. 

"The  young  American." 

"Which  young  American?" 

"The  one  who  just  went  away  from  here — from 
Frau  von  Berwitz's." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  the  Fraulein 
slowly  and  in  a  hard  voice  which  had  lost  all  its 
sweetness.  "What  do  you  know  about  the  young 
American  who  has  been  here?" 

"Only  what  the  morning  paper  says,"  answered  the 
woman,  shrinking  back. 

Then  as  the  Fraulein  went  on,  Gretchen  remem 
bered  having  seen  the  daily  paper  lying  untouched  in 
the  entry. 

"Well,  what  does  it  say?"  Her  tone  was  so  dull 
and  so  cold  that  Gretchen  fairly  shivered  with  fright. 

"Why,  it  says,"  whined  Frau  Schwartz,  evidently 


"MISS    TRAUMEREV  279 

enchanted  to  be  the  bearer  of  the  news  "how  his  boat 
was  run  into  by  another  boat,  and  how  he  was 
drowned,  with  everybody  else  on  board." 

There  was  a  terrible  silence.  Gretchen  stood  an 
instant  as  if  petrified,  and  then  the,  horror  of  it  all 
swept  over  her.  She  never  knew  what  prompted  it. 
but  a  mighty  force  lifted  her  arm  and  sent  the  bucket 
of  water  which  she  was  holding  straight  at  Frau 
Schwartz's  head.  There  was  a  frightful  scream  from 
the  street,  and  then  Gretchen  heard  a  heavy  fall  in  the 
next  room. 

"Ach,  the  poor  Fraulein!" 

She  and  her  mistress,  who  had  been  in  the  entry, 
saw  her  at  the  same  moment,  as  she  lay  like  one  dead 
upon  the  floor. 

"Oh,  Gretchen,"  moaned  Frau  von  Berwitz,  "her 
head  has  struck  the  chair." 

"Gretchen's  heart  stood  still.  She  knew  that  some 
thing  terrible  had  happened,  and  what  were  they  to 
do? 

"Run,"  she  called  to  the  unhappy  woman  in  the 
street,  "run  for  the  doctor,  for  you  have  killed  her, 
too!" 

They  placed  her  on  the  sofa  and  tried  vainly  to 
restore  her  to  consciousness.  Neither  spoke  of  the 
awful  fate  of  their  beloved  American,  but  Frau  von 
Berwitz  was  as  white  as  the  poor  young  Fraulein  her 
self. 

Gretchen  felt  a  sob  rising  in  her  throat  as  the  min 
utes  dragged  by  like  hours  and  the  doctor  did  not 
come. 


2  Bo  "MISS    TRAUMEREI" 

"I'll  go  too,"  she  said  to  her  mistress,  and  darted 
out  of  the  room. 

The  doctor  was  on  the  stairway,  and  behind  him  a 
messenger  with  a  telegram.  Gretchen  motioned  the 
doctor  to  open  the  door,  and  then,  with  a  boldness 
which  it  makes  her  blush  now  to  recall,  she  opened  the 
Fraulein's  telegram.  Fortunately  it  was  in  German: 

"Arrived — well.  Delayed  by  accident  to  ma 
chinery.  Carl." 

When  she  whispered  the  message  to  her  mistress, 
she  looked  down  at  the  Fraulein  and  began  to  cry. 
But  smiles  quickly  broke  through  her  tears,  for  the 
Fraulein  moved  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"Safe!  Safe!  "  exclaimed  Frau  von  Berwitz,  fearing 
to  say  more,  but  holding  aloft  the  telegram. 

The  Fraulein  didn't  seem  to  understand  at  first, 
and  then  she  smiled  a  very  little  before  closing  her 
eyes  again. 

After  a  while,  when  she  could  speak  a  few  words, 
she  asked  what  had  happened  to  her,  and  Frau  von 
Berwitz,  seeing  that  she  had  forgotten,  said:  "A 
little  dizziness;  nothing  more.  Carl  is  safe  on  land, 
so  now  don't  talk  any  more,  for  the  doctor  wishes  you 
to  keep  still  until  you  are  stronger." 

Seeing  that  the  Fraulein  was  in  no  danger,  though 
the  doctor  said  that  the  shock,  when  she  was  already 
so  unnerved  by  over-practice,  would  probably  confine 
her  to  the  house  for  a  time,  Frau  von  Berwitz  began 
to  grow  very  angry  with  Frau  Schwartz,  for  the 
morning  paper  had  simply  repeated  the  arrival  of  a 
Liverpool  boat  which,  during  a  fog,  had  collided  near 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI"  2  8 1 

mid-ocean,  with  a  smaller  vessel,  which  was  supposed 
to  have  gone  down  with  all  on  board,  as  no  traces 
of  it  could  be  found  when  they  reversed  the  engines. 

The  florist's  widow  had  said  to  a  customer:  "I  hope 
it  was  not  the  boat  by  which  the  young  American 
sailed." 

The  customer  told  a  friend  that  the  young  Ameri 
can  was  supposed  to  have  been  on  the  lost  boat;  the 
friend  told  Frau  Schwartz  that  the  young  American 
had  foundered  with  the  vessel,  and  Frau  Schwartz 
had  spent  the  morning  carrying  the  news  to  the 
neighbors. 

This  information  was  returned  by  Frau  Schulze 
who  had  been  sent  out  to  investigate  -the  false  report. 

For  one  week  it  seemed  to  Gretchen  that  she  did 
little  else  than  answer  the  jangle  of  the  old  bell  in 
the  court.  Count  von  Hohenfels  and  Mr.  Rivington 
came  twice  a  day,  and  Herr  Doctor  Liszt  sent  each 
morning  to  inquire  about  the  Fraulein,  until  she  was 
able  to  drive  out  with  Frau  von  Berwitz.  Then,  one 
afternoon,  the  Meister  himself  and  everybody  else 
came  to  say  good-bye  to  the  Fraulein,  who  was  so 
much  affected  thereby  that  Frail  von  Berwitz  said 
tht.t  all  she  could  do  now  was  to  get  her  out  of 
Weimar — that  Swiss  mountain  air  would  do  the  rest. 

The  Fraulein  felt  so  sad  at  leaving  that  she  would 
let  no  one  but  Gretchen  see  them  off  the  next  morn 
ing;  and  when  the  train  began  to  move  Gretchen 
turned  about  and  ran  into  the  station,  for  she  remem 
bered  that  it  was  "such  bad  luck  to  watch  any  one  out 
of  sight." 


282  <  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

How  lonely  the  old  mansion  seemed,  with  its 
music,  its  gay  young  life,  and  its  mistress  gone! 

"I  feel  as  if  I  could  water  the  flowers  with  my 
tears,"  she  had  said  to  Frau  Schulze,  after  closing  the 
house  for  its  long  sleep — but  then,  Hans  came  in 
the  evening. 

Ah,  Gretchen,  what  a  fickle-hearted  girl  you  were, 
laughing  with  the  children  and  singing  to  yourself 
all  next  morning  in  the  garden,  as  if  you  had  never 
known  the  pangs  of  regret!  And  the  flowers  went 
on  blooming,  and  the  fruit  ripened,  and  the  days 
grew  shorter,  and  then  Gretchen  heard  that  Hen- 
Doctor  Liszt  and  the  last  of  the  Lisztianer  had  de 
parted  for  the  season. 

"Our  Fraulein  will  not  return  now,"  she  said 
sadly,  to  Frau  Schulze;  "and  after  you  and  I  had 
planned  everything  for  such  a  grand  wedding,  too!" 

Even  then,  had  Gretchen  known  it,  wedding  bells 
were  ringing  for  the  Fraulein  and  her  handsome 
young  countryman  in  the  distant  city  of  Geneva. 

It  was  a  quiet  wedding,  Frau  von  Berwitz  wrote 
her;  but  such  a  happy  one  that  she  would  start  north 
next  day  with  a  light  heart,  especially  as  the  young 
couple  would  pass  a  week  with  her  in  Weimar  after 
a  honeymoon  trip  in  Italy;  "and,"  she  added,  "Mrs. 
Stanford  bids  me  say  that  she  will  hand  you  your 
dower  then,  so  that  you  may  arrange  for  your  mar 
riage  with  Hans  as  soon  after  as  I  can  fill  your  place." 

"Heigho,  Gretchen!"  sang  her  heart,  and  "Heigho, 
Gretchen  and  Hans!"  sang  the  stars  that  night  as 
they  winked  at  the  shadows  in  the  great  archway. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

Have  you  seen  Lucerne  by  night?  Have  you 
leaned  on  the  parapet  of  the  handsome  modern  quay 
and  counted  pebbles  in  the  clear  depths  of  the  em 
erald  lake — then  cast  your  eye  over  a  placid  surface 
reflecting  countless  stars  of  the  firmament,  to  that  dis 
tant  and  awful  shadow  thrown  by  the  black,  forbid 
ding  wall  of  solid  rock  beyond,  on  whose  stupend 
ous  heights  twinkle,  like  a  royal  diadem,  the  far-away 
lights  of  a  great  hotel;  and  still  higher,  above  an 
intervening  width  of  dark  vegetation,  to  where  the 
rising  moon  imparts  a  silvery  hue  to  broad  fields, 
rivulets,  islands,  and  peaks  of  snow  amidst  vast  rocky 
plateaus  and  sky-piercing  crags?  And  have  you 
finally  turned  to  those  two  mighty  sentinels  on  the 
near  right  and  distant  left — Pilatus  flaming  from  its 
towering  summit  a  powerful  crimson  light  like  the 
beacon  of  a  universe,  and  Rigi  bearing  aloft  a  bril- 
*  liant  solitaire,  the  composite  gleam  from  the  windows 
of  the  enormous  caravansary  on  the  Kulm? 

It  is  such  a  night  at  Lucerne.  The  band  on  the 
piazza  of  the  Schweizerhof  has  just  gone;  prome- 
naders  quickly  leave  the  Alice  on  the  quay  as  the 
lights  of  the  hotel  wink  out  one  by  one,  until 
scattered  groups  only  remain,  softly  conversing  in 
the  tongues  of  every  civilized  country,  or  awed  to 
silence  by  the  sublimity  of  the  scene. 


284  '  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

From  an  incoming  excursion  steamer  float  distant 
peals  of  laughter  and  music. 

The  great  throbbing,  glittering  mass  sweeps  ma 
jestically  on  to  the  wharf  below,  out  of  sight,  out  of 
hearing,  whilst  a  shimmering  silver  trail  ruffles  the 
peaceful  waters  and  sends  them  lapping  against  the 
stone  quay. 

Out  on  the  lake  a  single  voice  trolls  out  a  gay 
boating  song,  faintly  at  first,  but  quite  distinctly  as 
the  bark  nears  the  shore.  A  lady  and  gentleman  in  the 
shadow  of  a  tree  rise  in  silence  from  a  settle  on  the 
promenade,  and  cross,  arm  in  arm,  to  the  stone  wall. 

She  is  rather  below  medium  height,  a  trim,  well- 
dressed  figure,  as  far  as  we  can  see.  She  lifts  her 
face  in  the  moonlight.  It  is  that  of  a  stranger— a 
sweet  face,  indeed,  and  just  now  full  of  passionate 
love  as  she  turns  a  pair  of  dark,  intense  eyes  upon 
him.  Their  heads  are  near,  and  he  suddenly  looks 
around  as  she  says  softly  in  German :  "He  has  stopped. 
It  was  so  beautiful!" 

"Why — is  it  possible!     Let  us  look  more  sharply. 
Yes,  it  is  he;  but  in  citizen's  dress,  for  officers,  you  . 
know,  always  doff  regimentals  when  on  a  furlough. 
Listen,"  he  whispers,  turning  his  head  to  the  lake. 

The  strumming  of  a  guitar  rises  from  the  float  of 
gondolas  which  dot  the  mirror-like  waters,  and,  save 
for  the  low  music  of  the  oars,  move  silently  and  mys 
teriously  about  like  great  white  swans  in  the  moon 
light.  . 

"It  is  Schubert's  'Serenade,' "  he  whispers,  intent 
upon  the  final  chords  of  a  brief  prelude. 


'  'MISS     TRA  UMEREI "  285 

Why  does  he  start  and  peer  curiously  out  over  the 
waters  as  the  tenor  voice  we  have  just  heard  sings: 

Leise  flehen  meine  Lieder 

Durch  die  Nacht  zu  dir, 
In  den  stillea  Hain  hernieder 

Liebchen  komm  zu  mir. 

The  eloquent  eyes  at  his  side  look  up  questioningly, 
but  no  word  of  his  interrupts  the  song.  Dark  forms 
emerge  noiselessly  from  the  leafy  shadows  of  the 
promenade  and  assume  individuality  in  the  pale  light 
of  the  quay.  The  parapet  has  become  peopled  as 
by  magic. 

A  hundred  heads  bend  low  to  catch  the  clearly- 
articulated  words  rising  in  sweetest  melody  from  the 
waters.  Now  the  boatmen,  TOO,  rest  on  their  oars. 
Not  a  ripple  is  heard.  Even  the  mountains  seem 
listening  to  that  marvellous  voice  as  it  soars  and 
falls  in  divinest  cadence,  then  floats  softly,  reluct 
antly  into  space. 

A  boat  glides  out  and  makes  for  the  landing-steps 
near  which  the  young  lovers  are  standing. 

The  Count  eyes  it  sharply. 

"Come,  Ottilie,"  he  said ;  "here  are  some  old  friends 
of  mine.  We  wrill  assist  them  ashore." 

He  leaves  her  on  the  level  and  descends  to  meet 
the  approaching  gondola.  The  occupants  look  up 
inquiringly  as  he  bends  to  steady  their  boat. 

"Count  von  Hohenfels!"  they  exclaim  in  chorus, 
as  Stanford  extends  one  hand  and  drags  his  guitar 
after  him  with  the  other.  Muriel,  vivacious  and  girl 
ish  in  her  dainty  summer  apparel,  follows,  looking  the 
personification  of  health  and  happiness;  and  then 


286  ' ' MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

good  Frau  von  Berwitz,  apparently  not  a  day  older 
than  when  we  last  saw  her  in  Weimar,  steps  ashore 
and  adds  her  voice  to  the  general  hum. 

The  little  lady  on  the  quay  eyes  them  with  interest 
as  they  ascend,  oblivious  to  her  presence.  Then  the 
Count  introduces  her  as  "My  wife,.'  and  explains: 
"We  were  married  just  a  fortnight  ago  in  Silesia." 

"Your  cousin?"  inquires  Frau  von  Berwitz,  with  a 
sudden  look  of  understanding. 

"Yes,"  responds  Hohenfels,  as  they  overwhelm  him 
and  his  bride  with  congratulations. 

"Do  you  know,"  begins  Frau  von  Berwitz,  while 
they  move  towards  the  hotel,  'T  had  quite  lost  account 
of  you  since  your  transfer  to  Eisenach." 

"I  sent  you  announcements  of  our  betrothal 
and  marriage,"  exclaims  the  Count,  in  quick  apol 
ogy. 

"Which,  probably,  we  shall  receive  here,"  inter 
poses  Frau  von  Berwitz,  taking  his  arm.  "Our  let 
ters  have  gone  touring,  for  we  left  New  York  two 
weeks  earlier  than  originally  planned,  and  omitted 
Weimar  altogether  in  coming  here." 

"You  have  been  away  long — a  long  time." 

"Fourteen  months,"  exclaims  Frau  von  Berwitz. 
"And  it  is  three  years  since  Muriel  and  Stanford  have 
seen  Weimar." 

"Have  you  taken  out  naturalization  papers?"  asks 
the  Count  jestingly. 

"Not  yet,"  laughs  the  matron ;  "but  I  am  becoming 
very  American  in  following  Carl's  interests  in  legal 
and  public  affairs  generally ;  and  now  that  he  has  been 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  287 

nominated  for  Congress,  I  shall  probably  be  waving 
the  American  flag  until  election  day." 

"Oh,  he  is  sure  to  win,"  she  continues,  seeing  his 
look  of  inquiry.  "The  nomination  was  forced  upon 
him.  But  Muriel  and  I  insisted  upon  a  run  over  here 
for  a  change  and  a  breath  of  Swiss  air  before  open 
ing  the  campaign.  She  makes  him  an  ideal  wife," 
she  adds,  with  a  satisfied  nod  at  Muriel.  "She  has 
become  indispensable  to  his  public  career,  and  they 
are  so  happy  in  their  home  life  and  social  circle. 

They  fairly  idolize  each  other,  and You  must 

forgive  me,"  said  Frau  von  Berwitz,  abruptly  chang 
ing  her  tone,  "but  you  know  I  brought  him  up  almost 
from  infancy,  and  they  are  like  own  children  to  me. 
Now  tell  me  about  your  mother.  I  only  know  that 
Clara  Panzer  is  passing  the  summer  with  her.  She 
was,  of  course,  rejoiced  at  your  marriage?" 

"Decidedly!" 

"And  you,  too?" 

He  returns  smile  for  smile  ,and  she  asks:  "Is  she 
musical?" 

"Sings  like  an  angel." 

"I  am  heartily  glad  for  you.  What — the  hotel  so 
soon?  Well,  good-night.  We  shall  have  a  gay  re 
union  in  Lucerne,"  added  Frau  von  Berwitz,  extend 
ing  her  hand. 

A  keen  observer  would  have  noted  a  change  in  his 
face.  Were  there  still  regrets?  Was  not  the  fire  even 
yet  extinguished? 

"A  short  one,  I  fear,"  he  says,  with  hesitation,  "for 
we  leave  for  Interlaken  lo-morrow  afternoon." 


288  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

The  Countess  glances  at  him  in  surprise,  but  she 
only  smiles  response  to  the  tender,  almost  appealing, 
expression  of  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  too  bad!"  exclaims  Frau  von  Berwitz.  "We 
have  just  arrived  from  there.  Ah,  well;  you  will  both 
visit  me  in  Weimar  in  the  autumn.  But,  in  the  morn 
ing,  you  must  see  our  little  one.  He  calls  me  'Gra'- 
mama.' " 

"With  an  English  accent,  too,"  remarked  Stanford. 

"I  sometimes  think,"  observes  Muriel  to  the  Count 
ess,  "that  he  loves  Tante  Anna  better  than  he  docs 
me."  And  taking  Carl's  arm,  she  says:  "I  only  fear 
that  she  will  spoil  him,  as  she  has  his  father." 

"I  shall  certainly  try  it,"  affirms  Frau  von  Berwitz. 
"Now,  good-night,  my  dears.  We  will  let  young 
Francis  speak  for  himself  in  the  morning." 

"You  see,"  adds  Muriel,  her  eyes  gleaming  with 
unshed  tears,  "we  have  named  him  for  the  dear 
Meister." 


Come  with  me  again  to  the  Royal  Gardens.  Par 
don  me  if  I  accompany  you  to  the  door  only.  I  will 
ring,  and  place  you  in  charge  of  my  kind  old  friend 
Pauline.  She  will  conduct  you  through  the  upper 
rooms,  which  you  know  so  well,  and  explain  the  inter 
esting  collection  on  exhibition  there. 

One  moment,  while  I  whisper:  "Give  her  a  good 
fee  if  this  short  and  truthful  excerpt  from  the  term 
of  her  long  service  here  have  proven  acceptable  to 
you,  for  many  is  the  favor  she  has  done  me  in  the 
dear  old  times.  So,  now,  don't  let  me  detain  you. 
Look  well  after  my  friends,  Pauline." 

Wait!  I  forgot  to  say — and  this  sotto  voce — don't 
ask  her  about  any  of  our  old  acquaintances,  for  she 
knew  them  by  other  names.  And  I  have  told  you  this 
in  confidence,  you  know!  So,  I  will  be  here  when 
you  come  down.  Aufwiedersehen ! 

Listen!  The  echo  of  another  more  distant  fare 
well  floats  out  through  vanished  years  from  a  rare 
morning  in  early  autumn  when  the  dear  Meister 
called  to  me  for  the  last  time  from  the  head  of  the 
worn  stairwav;  "Aufwiedersehen!" 


290  "MISS     TRAUMEREI" 

"Aufwiedersehen!"  Ah!  that  echo  has  passed  into 
eternity,  too,  and  with  it  hopes  never  to  be  fulfilled. 
Now,  as  then,  I  seat  myself  on  the  settle  before  the 
house,  and  the  tender  memories  of  happy  days  crowd 
on  me  until  I  see  the  old  rustic  gate  through  blurred 
vision,  and  am  glad  that  no  one  is  near,  for  sentiment 
is  for  solitude  only.  The  heaviest  heart  should  wear 
a  smiling  face — it  is  so  often  the  only  comfort  we  can 
give  to  those  whose  burdens  are  heavier  than  our 
own. 

See!  This  confession  has  effected  its  ojvn  cure, 
and  I  think  now  with  dry  eyes  of  the  silent  gardens 
before  me. 

Where  are  they  of  whose  going  and  coming  the 
Alice  gate  clicked  record  in  the  old  student  days? 

The  press  of  two  continents  gives  daily  answer. 

I  myself  have  seen  one,  a  foreigner,  winning  ova 
tions  in  America ;  another  writes  of  triumphs  in  Rus 
sia;  a  third  is  astonishing  the  entire  musical  world 
with  his  transcendental  virtuosity;  a  fourth  is  coming 
to  the  front  in  Vienna;  a  fifth  is  playing  his  way  to 
popularity  and  greatness  in  Germany;  I  run  face  to 
face  with  a  sixth  in  the  streets  of  a  great  city;  and, 
from  time  to  time,  kindly  New  Year's  greetings,  a 
few  hasty  lines,  or  the  marked  copy  of  a  journal,  sent 
from  an  American  or  foreign  capital,  bespeak  the 
whereabouts  or  prosperous  careers  of  others. 

Why  have  they  all  separated  forever?  Why  this 
unbroken  silence  where  once  the  soul  of  music,  living, 
gave  succor  and  everlasting  life  to  worlds  without. 

For  answer,  go  to  Bayreuth. 


"MISS     TRAUMEREI"  291 

From  an  inscription  on  a  laurel-strewn  tomb  in 
the  old  city  cemetery  you  will  glean  the  following : 

Franz  Liszt. 
Died  July  31,  1886. 

The  dear  Meister!  Generous  to  a  fault,  lovable 
and  loving.  His  works  live  in  history — his  memory 
in  the  innermost  hearts  of  his  grateful  pupils. 

Out  of  all  the  alluring  life  which  his  presence  in 
Weimar  fostered,  the  musicales  at  the  artistic  home 
in  Schwanseestrasse  alone  survive.  Yet  they  too 
are  changed,  as  the  vacant  chair  before  the  piano 
gives  mournful  evidence,  and,  with  few  exceptions, 
the  guests  are  strange  to  us. 

Were  the  sisters  Stahr  not  now  at  the  seashore,  I 
would  beg  permission  to  introduce  you  at  one  of  their 
charming  afternoons  that  you  might  inspect  their  rare 
and  growing  collection,  and  hear,  possibly,  a  friend 
of  the  Liszt  period  play.  Nor  could  I  wish  for  better 
than  fascinating  Arna  Trebor;  for  it  would  be,  as 
Bulow  once  wrote  of  her,  "a  feast  for  the  eye  as  well 
as  the  ear." 

Ah,  it  is  hard  to  sever  dear  old  associations,  es 
pecially  such  as  have  made  Weimar,  for  almost  four 
decades,  the  Mecca  of  every  aspiring  young  pianist. 
When  the  warm  days  come,  and  the  park  and  Allee 
once  more  don  their  verdant  beauty,  you  will  surely 
find  there  acquaintances  made  in  this  faithful,  if  mod 
est  sketch,  revisiting  the  scene  of  treasured  memories. 

Like  them,  we  will  not  say  "good-bye."  I  cannot, 
when  I  look  down  upon  the  little  city  which  contains 
the  happiest  reminiscences  of  my  life.  See  it  nest- 


292  ' '  MISS     TRA  UMEREI " 

ling  confidingly  in  its  midsummer  sleep,  close  under 
the  protecting  heights  of  the  encircling  hills!  In  that 
eternal  watch  we  leave  it.  Therefore,  dear  Weimar — 
it  is  not  for  long — Aufwiedersehen ! 


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